Those Who Lift Each Other
by lls-mutant
Summary: When the Cylons attacked, the kids of New Directions were on board the Cybele, on their way to the All-Colony Show Choir Competition. Now they're members of the Fleet, being chased by the Cylons and trying to deal with the day-to-day struggles of a life after the worlds end.
1. It's the End of the World As We Know It

They had their tickets, they had checked their luggage, and they had gone through security. They were just about to approach gate Epsilon Seven when Rachel stopped them all.

"Mr. Schue? I think we just need to take a moment… right here and right now, for us to consider just how far we've come in three years." Rachel pulled in a deep breath, her eyes shining and her excitement palpable. "This is the moment we will be able to tell our children about." There was a murmuring of agreement, and Rachel smiled wider. "The moment when you were on stage with me."

And, yet again, Rachel put her foot in it. Will wondered why he even bothered to be surprised about that at this point. Seriously, people vastly underestimated the skill teachers required in diplomacy.

"Rachel's right," he jumped in before the others could attack her. "Well, mostly. This is a big deal, guys! The All-Colony Show Choir Championships! And let me just say, I am so proud of each and every one of you. You have all worked so hard, and you all deserve this."

The kids were grinning back at him. "I've got an idea," Will said suddenly. "Line up." He pulled a camera out of his bag. "Come on, guys. Let's mark the moment!" The kids all grouped together, arms around each others' shoulders and smiles on their faces. "Say cheese," Will said lightly, then snapped the picture.

Predictably, as soon as the shutter clicked, the kids started squabbling.

"We should practice on the ship," Rachel declared. "We can't rest. If we're going to win-"

"Yeah, I'm sure that listening to us singing for the whole time won't make the entire cabin want to space themselves," Mercedes said, rolling her eyes.

"But we're awesome," Brittany answered. "You can't get that in the vacuum of space."

Mercedes stared at her, probably just amazed that Brittany knew the word _vacuum_ in relation to _space_, but Finn picked the argument up. "It's a two hour flight, Rachel. Two hours isn't going to make a difference."

"Every second could make a difference," Rachel insisted. "We can't afford to get sloppy."

"With that sweater?" Kurt piped up. "I think it's too late."

Will tuned them out and checked the itinerary in his hand one more time. Twelve kids, four adults… he could do this.

"Well, William, I must say. This is going to go better than I expected."

Will eyed Sue warily. "Just get to the punch line, will you, Sue? I'm not in the mood for the big set up right now."

"Who said there was a punch line?" Sue asked, radiating clearly fake innocence. "I'm seriously impressed that you managed to get twelve kids to the spaceport and not have any of them run off to the nearest opium den just to get away from the sight of that ravine that divides your chin in two. Gods know I sure considered it."

Will rolled his eyes. Off to the side, he noticed Carole and Burt smirking, but he couldn't tell if they were laughing at them or at the kids. "You didn't have to come," he reminded her.

"On the contrary, William, I did. Old Figgins was so worried about you and Ricky and Lucy here taking all these kids off-world without ever having been yourself that he _had_ to send someone who has actually been out of the backwaters of Gemenon and knows their way around Caprican society. And since the Bieste there was already busy shuttling her steroid-addled wrestle-monkeys and her dapper little bebopping manager to that championship on Caprica, the only one he could rely on to keep your asses out of trouble was me."

"Lucky for us," Burt muttered from the sidelines. Carole snickered and then winked at Will. He smiled back.

"Whatever. Come on, Sue. Let's herd them all into the waiting area."

The waiting area was small and shabby; Gemenon Argonaut Airlines was a bargain company. They carried cargo and passengers, and in that order of priority. Outside the window Will could see their ship waiting. The _Cybele_ was distinctly shabby, with four huge cargo compartments making up the bulk of the craft, and a small passenger cabin perched high above them. Will didn't want to admit it, but Sue was right about one thing- he was nervous. He hadn't been off-world since his own club had gone to the All-Colony Show Choir Competition his senior year of high school, and the prospect of being off-world with twelve excited, hyper, and prone-to-romantic-geometry teenager was a little daunting.

The kids sprawled across the waiting area. Mercedes, Brittany, and Santana were working on runs together, Finn and Puck were arguing about pyramid, Artie and Sam were playing some sort of electronic game, Kurt was on his phone to Blaine if the glowing expression was any indication, Rachel was pacing and glaring at her music, Quinn was reading a guidebook, and Mike and Tina were getting a little too close for Will's comfort. Fortunately, Burt grabbed Mike by the scruff of his neck and cleared his throat loudly, and the two of them backed off each other for a moment. Will wanted to laugh, but he realized hotel arrangements were really going to get fun on this trip, especially once Blaine and Lauren met up with them from the wrestling tournament.

Fortunately, that train of thought was interrupted by the flight attendant calling for passengers to begin boarding. Will jumped to his feet, excitement edging out nerves. "All right, let's go!" Will called out, standing by the gate. The kids stood up, tossing carryon bags over their shoulders or tucking them under their arms. Rachel immediately took her place at the front of the line, a smug, excited smile on her face.

There was a huge bang, and the spaceport shook.

"What was that?" Santana asked, but no one answered.

Will looked at the flight attendant, a portly man with thinning brown hair and a sweaty face, who shrugged. But he could see the furrow of worry between the man's brows. "Start the boarding process!" he shouted. "Everyone in line, please! No shoving. Let's get-"

He was cut off by a sound that was distinctly an explosion. It was clearly happening in the distance, but it was an explosion nonetheless.

"Should we get on?" Will asked the flight attendant.

"Sir, I don't think that's wise," the flight attendant said. There was panic in the spaceport now. People were gravitating towards television screens and checking their phones for alerts. Whatever the news was, it wasn't good. Automatically, Will looked over his shoulder at the kids. They all looked confused and worried.

The flight attendant's walkie talkie buzzed. "Robert," a woman's scared, firm voice said, "get everyone on. Now. As many people as you can. Even if they don't have tickets."

"Why?" Will asked, fear blooming in his stomach and coursing through his muscles. "What's going on?" But the captain wasn't there to answer.

"Get on," Robert ordered. Will wanted to press for more details, but there was another explosion and out the window, he could see the previously blue sky was turning dark. He nodded, the fear sharpening. Whatever was happening was not good.

"Come on," he shouted at the kids. "Let's go. Rachel, Finn, Puck, Santana, Brittany, Quinn…" he put a hand on each kid's back as he counted them. "Mike, Sam, give Artie a hand and speed us up, will you?" he shouted. There was more commotion now in the spaceport, the anxious talk becoming louder and more urgent in tone. Finn and Puck obeyed without argument. "Tina, Mercedes, Kurt…" he looked around frantically.

He wished he could find some sort of comfort in the faces around him, but there was none. People were running to spaceships now, and the tide was picking up.

"Come on." Sue grabbed Will's collar and yanked him into the gate. Burt and Carole followed, both of them hustling and looking over their shoulders. Another explosion resounded, and this one shook the ship.

"Move it!" someone yelled from behind them, and Will could feel the press of people desperate to get on this ship. He half ran and was half shoved through the short corridors and into the passenger cabin. The seats were tightly packed and arranged in a three-six-three arrangement, although the row Artie was sitting in only had two seats, and a spot where his wheelchair was strapped down. New Directions was scattered in blocks in two rows.

The kids were already buckled in when he made it into the cabin. Will tried to count them once more, but Sue forced him down into his seat and disappeared. Carole slid into the seat next to him. "Get your straps done," she hissed at him. Her face was pale, and she leaned over him. Will finally realized he had a window seat and looked out. One glance made him he wished he hadn't, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the sight outside.

From this height, he could see beyond the spaceport. A mushroom cloud bloomed in the distance, the stem of smoke coursing up to the dark sky. The winds whipped the trees and the sky was dark, and he could see darker, sootier smoke rising from several spots on the horizon.

"Oh my gods," he heard Finn say. He turned to look- Finn was seated across the cabin. Will couldn't see out the window from where he sat, but Rachel leaned over Finn and then drew back with a strangled cry. He had the terrible feeling the view was the same from both sides.

"Mr. Schue?" Artie turned around in his seat. "What's happening?"

"I don't know," Will said. And that was the worst truth of all- he had no idea. Absolutely no idea. "But it looks bad."

The engines roared to life, and Robert, the frantic flight attendant, appeared in the front. "Everyone make sure you're strapped in!" he yelled. "We're filled up and we're running for it!"

"Filled up?" Burt asked from the other side of Carole. "That doesn't sound good."

"Neither does 'we're running for it'," Carole agreed. She grasped Burt's hand. The _Cybele_ began to lift off, and Will's own hands tightened around the armrests on his seat.

As they lifted off, Will looked out the window again. To his horror, he could see not one, not two, but three thick columns of smoke. Fires raged beneath them, wrecked cars blocked the freeway, and buildings collapsed. Ships like Will had never seen whizzed through the sky, criss-crossing and dropping bombs. And an army marched down the freeway and onto the smaller roads, immense and precise and… and…

Mechanical?

He strained his eyes, but he couldn't make his brain make sense of what he was seeing. The _Cybele_ was rising so fast that he didn't have time to examine or evaluate the scenes on the ground; just time for the images to burn into his retinas. He swallowed hard against the changing pressure as they soared out of the atmosphere, and then his eyes widened as he saw hundreds- no, _thousands_- of ships against the backdrop of space. People in the cabin started screaming, but Will could only stare in stupefied silence. Huge ships that looked like giant spurs or thistles launched thousands of tiny crescent-shaped crafts. He wasn't an expert, but he was _positive_ there was nothing like those on the Colonies.

Ships veered down towards the surface of Gemenon in startlingly perfect formation. _All_ of Gemenon, from what he could tell. The entire colony was under attack. Will strained to look down again. He'd seen pictures of Gemenon from space, landmasses and mountains and oceans… now he could see nothing but flame, destruction, and death.

How many people was he watching die right now?

People screamed on the other side of the cabin, and he instinctively balled up on himself, covering his head. Then the world jerked as they jumped to faster-than-light speed, but it barely registered. He braced himself, waiting for whatever would hit them, for one of those ships to blow them all to smithereens.

Nothing.

He looked out the window again. They were floating in space, the stars looking serene and peaceful.

His breath came in short spurts, and he couldn't control his shaking. They were alive. His heart was pounding so hard that Will thought it might explode, and his veins ached with the speed of the blood pulsing through them.

"What the frak just happened?"

He couldn't identify the speaker, but really, whoever it was spoke for everyone. Will had seen the horrible images for himself, and yet he couldn't make his mind understand.

"It's the Capricans," someone shouted. "The Capricans have declared war on us!"

"Why would the Capricans declare war on us?" a woman responded. "We've never been at war with the Capricans! If it's anyone, it's the Taurons. There was that article just last week about the Taurons' secret military ships, and I sure as hell have never seen anything like those!"

"An uprising?" a man suggested. "The monotheistic worshippers have a penchant for terror attacks."

"This wasn't a terrorist attack," Robert said. "There's no terrorist organization in the Colonies that has that kind of financing and military power. In fact, I-" he tapped his headset and paled. "Excuse me," he said, and ducked out of the passenger cabin.

In front of Will, Quinn turned around. "Do you have any idea what's going on, Mr. Schuester?"

Will shook his head and had to swallow a few times before he could speak. "I don't have the first idea, Quinn. I just… I just know what I saw."

"Well, what happened to everyone else?" Artie asked. "It was just Oranu that was attacked, right? I mean, Lima should be okay."

"Yeah," Sam leaned over the aisle and added in. "Who would drop a bomb on Lima?"

"It would be one hell of a waste of a bomb," Puck muttered.

Will looked around helplessly. People were arguing, crying, trying to soothe each other, just sitting silently, ashen and lost.

He opened his mouth to tell them that Lima was safe, then shut it again. He knew nothing, and they knew he knew nothing.

Will instinctively reached for his phone, then sighed tossed it into the pouch on the back of the seat in front of him. He heard Kurt trying his phone even though they were too far out of range now that they'd jumped, trying to get through to Blaine on Caprica, but judging by the frantic pitch of his voice he was unsuccessful. Will rested his forehead on his knuckles and looked out the window again.

He had no idea how much time had passed when the loudspeaker crackled into life. "This is Captain Xu. I need your attention."

There was an explosion of conversation, followed by people hushing each other. Robert entered the cabin and yelled for people to quiet down, and the babble died away quickly. The captain spoke into the silence.

"Right now, we do not know exactly what has happened on Gemenon. However, we are getting reports that all of the other Colonies are under attack as well. Several ships have reported that the attacks are coming from the Cylons.

"We don't know how many people have escaped the Colonies. We don't know anything about the fate of the Colonies themselves. We do know that the destruction is widespread, and that the number dead must be in the millions. We don't know what will happen next.

"I ask that, right now, we take a few moments of silence to pray for the victims of this holocaust." The cabin was silent, except for the cackle of static from the address system. Will bowed his head, but he couldn't shut his eyes. His entire body was numb, and he imagined he could hear the people on Gemenon screaming. Whatever was happening was probably still going on.

"I don't know what is going to happen," Captain Xu said finally, "but we will keep you posted. Please do not attempt to come to the control room in an effort to find out more; I assure you that I will pass on any information I have."

The intercom went quiet, and the cabin exploded into talk again. Will sat back in his seat, hands gripping the armrests.

He wanted to tell the kids- to tell _himself_- that everything was all right, but it would only be a lie. Nothing was right, and nothing ever would be right again.

***

"Cylons," Santana said. "How the frak can it be Cylons?"

The kids had rearranged themselves a little so they were sitting in the same two rows. "The Cylons are _gone_," Santana continued. "They can't just, like, come back and destroy twelve planets. That's ridiculous. They're _robots._"

"Robots made for killing," Artie pointed out. "And the Cylon War lasted for twelve and a half years before the Cimtar Peace Accord was signed."

"I didn't think anyone used scimitars anymore," Brittany said quietly. Everyone looked at her for a moment in silence.

"Whatever," Mercedes said. "I saw those ships that were attacking Gemenon, and they didn't look anything like the ones in the history- would you stop doing that?" she demanded, snatching Kurt's phone from his hands. "We're out in deep space. You're not going to get through to Caprica!"

"You never know," Kurt said desperately, on the verge of tears and trying to take the phone back from Mercedes. "There's always a chance-"

"There's not," Artie said quietly. "There's nothing to boost the signal. To any of the Colonies."

Sam sighed and tossed his own phone down. "Artie's right. I'm not getting anything from Gemenon, either. Not that I expected to on this cheap piece of shit, but…."

"Excuse me," Quinn interrupted, "but can it _really_ be Cylons? I'm inclined to agree with Santana. The Cylons haven't been heard from in decades."

"What do you think, Mr. Schue?" Finn turned around to ask.

Will had been listening as quietly as he could, playing with his own phone and trying every contact number that he had. He'd tried earlier to go up and ask the flight attendant for more information, but had been firmly sent back to his seat and told to stay there. Truth be told, he was kind of hoping the kids would forget he was there. He mopped a hand over his face.

"I don't know, guys," he said finally. They all looked so desperate, staring at him like he could give answers. It irritated him a little, because they _knew_ he didn't know any more than they did. "But the captain's getting her information from somewhere, so I assume-"

"Wait," Mercedes said, looking up anxiously, "if the Cylons are still out there, does that mean they'll find us again?"

"And where are we going to go?" Sam asked. "If they've attacked Gemenon-"

"What about our parents?" Tina asked, shrinking back against Mike, who wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "What about-"

"What about the All-Colony Show Choir Championships?" Rachel demanded. "We'll still get there in time, right Mr. Schuester?"

"Guys, guys, GUYS!" Will shouted, holding his hands up. "I don't know, all right? I don't know anything! All I know is what we saw and what they've told us, and it looks bad! I don't know what to tell you guys right now, all right?"

Silence swept over the New Directions group as they all stared at him. Will struggled to rein in his temper.

"Look. They're working up there," he said. "They're getting in touch with other ships, and we'll know more soon. We just have to sit tight, okay?"

It wasn't the answer that they wanted to hear, but it was the only answer he could give them.

***

"Mr. Schue! Look!" It was Artie who called out.

Will jerked awake from an uneasy sleep to peer out the window. "Oh my Gods," he said, pressing his open palm to the window and looking out eagerly.

Carole leaned over his shoulder. "How many do you think there are?"

"I heard about sixty," Burt said from the other side of her.

"Sixty ships," Will said, lighting up. But Burt didn't smile. "What?" Will asked. "What's wrong?"

Burt shrugged. "I'm not that big on ships," he said. "I'm better with cars. But see that one over there?" He pointed at a ship with a huge lighted dome. Will nodded. "That's a botanical cruiser. They're used for vacations."

"So?"

"They don't have FTL drives."

For a moment, Will just wanted to shrug. But then he remembered that fleet of ships that they'd seen when they broke atmo over Gemenon. Precise, high-tech, and _fast_. Without the means to go faster than light, any ship happened on by those Cylons was going to be dead in the water, no matter how fast it could go otherwise.

"But space is a big place," Will said. "Finding a ship in space is… the odds…."

"Yeah," Burt muttered. "We can hope. I mean, what're the chances they'll be looking for us?" Burt didn't sound like he meant it.

The ships outside looked so serene, floating like this. Will took one deep breath, and then another. "We should say something to the kids," he murmured.

Carole patted his hand. "Like what?" she asked kindly. "Unless you were communicating with the gods in your sleep, you don't know any more than the kids do right now."

"Yeah, but I should able to say _something_," Will said, frustrated. "I mean, I'm responsible for them. I'm their _teacher._" The thought made him look around suddenly for Sue, because damn, he needed help. But her seat was empty. _Where_ she could have gone right now was beyond him, but he thought bitterly that he shouldn't be surprised.

That responsibility was starting to dawn on him. Before, when he'd taken the kids on trips, he'd always been safe in the knowledge that this was a temporary thing. The kids would all go home to their parents at the end of the day or the end of the weekend. The worst things he'd worried about were them sneaking into each other's rooms or getting lost or maybe even injured or… okay, there were some things he worried about that were more severe. But this….

This trip wasn't ending. If the rumors were right, they weren't going back to Gemenon, and every kid in New Directions except for Finn and Kurt were orphans now.

Hell, _he_ was an orphan now, although the term didn't really apply. But his parents were dead, too.

"Oh my Gods," he whispered. "Everyone…."

"Don't think about it right now," Carole advised, but now that Will had started, he couldn't stop. It wasn't just his parents, but _everyone_. All the kids at school, all the teachers, Figgins, _Emma_- oh gods, _Emma_, Shannon… his parents, his friends… _Terri._ Terri was dead. He wasn't in love with her anymore, but for some reason, that was the one that Will's mind settled on. For some reason, that was the one that made this all _real_.

"You okay?" Burt asked, and his voice sounded very far away.

"Yeah. Yeah… just… give me a minute."

He closed his eyes again, and inside him a gulf threatened to open up. He felt like he was hanging on by his fingertips, ready to fall. If he did, it would only be grief and rage and loss… he wouldn't be able to focus on anything else. And right now, he had twelve kids who were going through the same sorts of losses. He couldn't fall apart. He simply did not have that luxury right now.

"All right," he said, opening his eyes. "I'm okay."

"You sure?" Carole said, her hand covering his.

"Yeah. I just… yeah." Will nodded. "So I shouldn't say anything to the-"

"Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats." Captain Xu's voice over the announcement system interrupted him, and she sounded strained. "We will be jumping in less than a minute."

"Jumping?" Will looked out the window again. "I don't…." But he trailed off, because he saw it. One of those strange, pointy ships that looked like a thistle or a spur. "They found us?"

He wasn't the only one who realized what was going on. There were screams from other parts of the cabin, and Burt put his arm around Carole and pulled her close as she buried her face in his shoulder. The kids hustled back to seats and strapped in, and he saw them clinging to each other's hands. They were all tense, and Will realized that they all- that everyone on the _Cybele_- thought they were going to die.

They probably were. Gemenon lay in his memory, covered over with a thick layer of nuclear smoke. He tensed, waiting for them all to be blown to bits.

The cabin lurched again, and Will's stomach lurched with it. This was the second time in his life he'd felt an FTL jump, and the first time he'd been too occupied for the physical experience to register. It was not pleasant. He felt like he was being sucked into a black hole, quickly taken apart and reassembled and then stretched back out to his normal size. The experience left him nauseous and not quite convinced that he was exactly the same as he'd been before the jump. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and then looked out the window. Space, again, but one by one, ships were appearing. He couldn't see how many out the small portal, but ships were appearing. He laughed, falling back against the seat.

The engines wound down. The vibrations eased, and the jump was done. The kids were all still belted in their seats, clinging to the armrests, to their belts, to each other. Will looked over them all anxiously, counting them just out of habit. All there.

Rachel Berry opened one eye, her hands still clenched around her armrest. "Are we alive?" she asked cautiously.

"We're alive," Will said, his voice sounding strange in his own ears. "We're alive."

The survivors in the cabin cheered.

***

The people in the cabin had shifted around again. Will heard that there were people down in the cargo holds, too, and he remembered the orders to get as many people on as they could.

"How are you doing?" Will asked, leaning over the back of the seat in front of him to where Artie was sitting with Sam. They were both staring out the window and started at his question.

"You know where we are, Mr. Schue?" Artie asked, and he sounded incredulous. He gestured out the window. The very first thing that Will noticed was the blue-green glow instead of the black of space. In the near distance, Will could see what looked like a space station. It was a long, cylindrical structure arranged vertically relative to their position, and it had three large rings around the top end. It looked something like a child's top, hanging there in space.

Will shook his head. "Not a clue. Where are we?"

"That's the Ragnar Anchorage," Artie said breathlessly.

"What's that?" Will asked blankly.

"It's pretty awesome, Mr. Schuester," Sam explained. "It's, like, the armory that's the furthest out in space. Do you have any idea how far from Gemenon we are right now?"

"Great," Will said, not wanting to think about that. "So why are we here?"

"Look right over there," Artie said, craning his neck. "On the left side of the station. You see it?"

Will's eyes widened. "A battlestar," he breathed, and both boys nodded.

Will had seen pictures of the great battlestars, of course. Everyone had. They were on the news, they were in history books when you learned about the Cylon War. The long, half-oval ship was docked at the space station. Two bulges on either side of the flat ship extended out, and a much smaller ship flew out of the end of the nearest one. Retractable flight pods, Will remembered.

Battlestars were more than just ships; they were spacefaring military bases. Each one could hold a crew of up to five thousand soldiers, as well as few squadrons of single-piloted Vipers and a large number of Raptors. The pictures didn't do it justice, Will decided. He had not really been able to understand until now just how _massive_ these battlestars were.

"Wow," he said.

"I know, right?" Sam laughed. "If nothing else, we get to see a battlestar in person before we die." His voice was so bitter on the last words.

"Yeah," Artie agreed, trying to keep a brave face. "How many people on the Colonies could say that? It's pretty amazing."

"Which battlestar is it?" Will said.

"Not sure yet," Artie answered. "We've been trying to figure it out, but we aren't close enough to see what's on the side."

Will wasn't sure it mattered. The sight of a battlestar, something that big and that powerful, made his heart lift. "A battlestar," he repeated, smiling. He clapped Sam and then Artie on their shoulders, and then crossed the aisle to see how some of the other kids were doing.

"How many are you counting?" he heard Finn ask as he approached.

"I can see thirteen," Quinn said with a frown. "But I keep telling you, we can't see everything from this stupid little window."

Tina was making her way over. "I saw another two when I looked out the back."

"What's going on?" Will asked.

Finn looked up. "Oh, hey, Mr. Schue. We're just trying to count the ships out there."

"The ships? Burt said there were about sixty," Will answered.

"There were," Quinn agreed. "But it seems like there are less now."

"And I keep saying how are we supposed to tell that?" Puck asked, from the seat in front of her. He was on his knees, leaning his elbows on the back of the seat he was sitting in. "I mean, there could be a whole shitload of ships above us. Or below us."

"Puck's right, guys," Will said. "And did you hear what's outside the other window? A battlestar."

"No way." Puck was immediately off his seat and headed over to look out the other side.

"So cheer up, guys," Will continued. "It looks like things are getting better."

***

Gemenon was gone. Will still couldn't wrap his mind around it. He managed to slip into a tiny alcove and stood staring out a window at the collection of ships that had survived. It was frustrating not to be able to see that many.

"Well, well, well. Thought I might find you here."

Will sighed. "What do you want, Sue?"

"You have always been a complete and utter loser. Why, back on Gemenon, the only reason your little glee club even made it to the All-Colony song and dance competition is because the Waffletoots tried to do the Caprican anthem as a jive number. You are a failure, William. At marriage, at your pathetic little glee club, and at life. Although I must say I am impressed that you have managed to maintain such a terrible hairstyle at the end of the world."

"This isn't the time for this, Sue," Will shot back.

Sue raised an eyebrow. "No? Then what is it the time for? Standing here sulking?"

"I'm not sulking!"

"Sure you are. You probably heard about those twenty ships that we lost."

"What are you talking about?"

"Those sixty ships we were with?" Sue asked, her arms crossed. "Only forty or so of them were capable of faster than light speed."

Will was going to say something, and then it hit him. "Wait, so what happened to the ones that weren't?"

Sue shrugged. "Cylons got them, Will. What do you think?"

"Oh, Gods."

"It's run or be killed any more. Sink or swim, pretty literally."

Twenty ships lost that time? How many people? Will didn't even want to know. And then who had made that call? "Why didn't we _do_ something?" he asked.

"Like?"

"Like fight back! Like… because we're a transport ship," Will realized. "This ship doesn't have guns. None of them do, except for that battlestar out there."

"Wow. I'm impressed, William. And you got that far all by yourself." Sue smacked him on the arm, hard. "Well, keep hiding in here," she said, backing off. "That's what you're good at." And with that parting shot, she headed… somewhere. Will didn't know. He didn't really care.

Whatever population they'd managed to put together, it had just decreased by… how many? And somewhere in this group of ships, someone had made that call. Someone had had to say, "whoever can needs to run."

That someone had saved their lives, but the thought still made Will sick.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cool, thick polymer window, forcing the thought from his mind. He needed to get back to the kids, and he didn't want to tell them about this. Maybe they'd find out, but not from him. They needed to have faith in something still, and this fleet of ships was all they had left.

***

News came in slowly, filtered down from Captain Xu's control room. The Colonies were utterly destroyed. The Colonial Fleet was destroyed, except for the one battlestar they had found, which was called the _Galactica_. It was one of the original battlestars built back during the Cylon War. Its commander, William Adama, had been about to retire. The government was destroyed, except for the Secretary of Education Laura Roslin, who had been sworn in as President. Over forty ships had banded together, and the current estimate was around fifty thousand people. _The tatters of humanity_ was a fitting phrase.

Ragnar Anchorage continued to float outside their window. Will wondered how much longer they would be here, and where they would go. Those were questions no one seemed to be able to answer.

And then the Cylons found them again.

Will was halfway down the ladder that led from the passenger cabin to the intent cargo pods, intending on seeing what sort of space was really down there. But he froze on the ladder, listening to the screams from the cabin and the frantic, "Ladies and gentlemen, _please_ calm down!" over the intercom. Will clung to the rungs, his face pressed against the cold metal as he tried to calm down and force himself to climb back up. He had just taken a deep breath and started when the ship jumped again.

The feeling of the FTL jump still turned his stomach, and now he had to hold on to the rungs for a different reason as his limbs trembled and nausea threatened to overtake him. He swallowed hard, and after a minute, his stomach stopped threatening to rebel, and he was able to climb.

"What happened?" he asked the nearest passenger once he was out of the cargo pods.

"They found us and we jumped," the woman said. Her eyes looked wild, terrified. "I don't know… I think we're away…."

Will nodded and struggled to get to a window. It was difficult, since everyone else had the same idea. When he finally was able to look out, he saw two other ships from his vantage point, floating serenely against the backdrop of space.

And then the _Galactica_ winked into view. Will drew back, startled, because the _Galactica_ was _huge_. Even when he'd seen it at Ragnar Anchorage with Artie and Sam, he hadn't realized the sheer size of the ship like he did now. He couldn't see all of it- just enough to know what he was looking at, and it was… Will had never seen a building so large, even when he'd gone to Delphi.

A ragged cheer went up at the sight of the battlestar. There was no acknowledgement from the _Galactica_, of course. It was just a hunk of metal, without a single human face to be seen. But it was still the most comforting thing Will had ever seen in his life.

The Cylons had found them twice already, and both times, they'd escaped. Will was starting to think that their deaths might not be so imminent after all.

***

It was night, at least according to the clocks. Will found it hard to think of it as anything but. His body was exhausted, but he was restless. He explored the _Cybele_ a little more, trying to get a feel for the ship. People were beginning to spread out down the narrow stairs and into the cargo pods, the docking area that allowed for a small shuttle to dock in an emergency, and the small maintenance bay. The kids had all stayed in the passenger cabin, which was a little less crowded now that some people had moved into other parts of the ship. Will spotted them immediately when he returned.

They had spread out a little, but they were still close together. Quinn, Mercedes and Rachel were talking quietly, but Kurt had fallen asleep with his head in Mercedes' lap. Brittany and Santana were also asleep, their heads together and shoulder to shoulder. Mike and Artie were playing a travel chess game. Puck and Finn were engrossed in what was obviously deep conversation, and Tina was listening to Sam, who was obviously trying not to break down and cry in the middle of whatever he was saying. Burt and Carole were talking quietly to a few other passengers.

Sue was sitting in a seat, her reading light on and frowning fiercely as she contemplated the book in front of her. Will swallowed hard and approached.

"How you holding up, Sue?" he asked.

Sue didn't look up. "What's it to you, William?"

Will shrugged. "It's been a rough day for everyone." He hesitated, and then dove. "I know you've lost all of your Cheerios, and I imagine you had family on Gemenon."

Sue looked up and took off her glasses. For a moment, raw grief flitted across her face, but she struggled for composure fast. "You think I'm sitting here mourning that?" she shot back. "Let me break it down for you, William. Those kids were all _lucky_. They're dead. It's over. We might have gotten away for now, but if you think those toasters aren't going to hunt us down and slaughter us one by one, then you're even more delusional than I ever gave you credit for, and that's really saying something. You ever heard of the _Galactica_? Of course not- it doesn't produce hair gel. It's a relic. It's older than the songs you have your glee kids sing, and that's all we've got. So those kids we left back on Gemenon? They were the lucky ones. We're the ones that are screwed."

"No. That's not true, Sue," Will said, shaking his head and thinking of the _Galactica_ hovering outside, of the way they'd escaped two Cylon attacks already. "We're still alive. We still have a chance."

"You call a million to one a chance?" Sue demanded.

Will smiled grimly. "Yeah," he said slowly. "Yeah, I do."

***

The main passenger cabin was not the most comfortable place for a ship-wide meeting. It was crowded and stuffy, and there were more people crowded onto the _Cybele_ than the ship was built to carry, so the cabin was filled over capacity. Will had debated sending the kids out to the cargo sections just to alleviate a few bodies, but they all deserved to hear what was going on, too.

The man that addressed them all was a kid barely out of college with curly hair and a face that made him look even younger than he was. His name was Billy, and he told them that his family had died on Picon. He was President Roslin's aide, and Will suspected they were supposed to be flattered that he was addressing them personally. But maybe not. Maybe he was just being cynical.

"The President has lists of names, ages, and professions," Billy explained. "But now she's looking for more. What sort of hobbies you had, what sorts of skills we can use. These ships- this _Fleet_ - is our only hope, and we have to keep it going until we find Earth."

A roar of conversation greeted that statement, and Will's eyebrows nearly met his hairline.

"Earth?" he heard Finn say. "What does he mean, Earth?"

Billy was trying to get the crowd to simmer down. "Commander Adama," he shouted over the decreasing buzz, "Commander Adama has announced that we- the Fleet- will be searching for Earth. That it really exists."

"Right," Will heard Kurt snort. Mercedes nudged him hard with her elbow, but Will had to admit that he felt the same skepticism.

"There's no Earth," an older man from the other side of the cabin said. "It's a legend."

Billy pressed his lips together hard, and then sighed. "Legend or not," he said stiffly, "the point is that it will take us a long while to find a habitable planet that we can now call home. The Commander- and the President- both firmly believe that we will find Earth."

"And how long do you think that's going to be?" someone from the back asked.

Billy shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "We're searching for clues."

"More like grasping at straws," Kurt muttered again, quietly enough that only a few people heard.

Billy changed the subject. "One of the projects that is going to start getting underway is transforming these vessels for long-term living. This ship," Billy gestured, "is going to have to serve as a home." There was another murmur of discontent, and Will looked around. He could see why. It wasn't a big ship, and it certainly wasn't luxurious. Right now, over two hundred passengers were huddled in this flight cabin. "We're going to have to redistribute some of the population," Billy explained. "Ships like the _Cybele_ here aren't going to hold all of you for long, whereas some of the large cargo ships and freighters can be repurposed and handle a larger population than what they were originally intended to carry. We will begin collecting information from the _Cybele_ immediately. What I need is five volunteers to carry out the survey process and begin collecting the data."

Will was in no way surprised when Rachel's hand shot up. He refrained from rolling his eyes, but it didn't matter. There were several other people who volunteered, all of them considerably older. Billy pointed out five adults, leaving Rachel with her hand in the air. Despite the annihilation of everything they'd ever known, some things would apparently never change.

Billy continued to address them, starting to list some basic rationing regulations. But before he got too far, the intercom squealed. Will cringed at the whine, wanting to cover his ears as Captain Xu's voice flooded the cabin. "Condition One has been set throughout the Fleet. Be prepared to jump."

"Condition One?" Will said, wondering if he was ever going to get used to his heart lurching into his throat. "That means-"

"The Cylons have found us yet again," Sue agreed. She was leaning against a wall and had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the meeting. "What did you think? That they'd be so thorough nuking the Colonies and leave you and your band of merry losers to survive? If I was a toaster, I'd shoot this ship down just for carrying you and your pathetic glee club. And your hairstyle, though I believe that you just might have found your soul sister with Curlicue here."

Will was about to respond when a buzzer sounded. "Hang on!" Billy shouted, bracing his feet more firmly against the floor.

_Three. Two. One._ Will sucked in his breath, and the ship jumped. He shook himself, breathing deeply and trying not to throw up. His fourth jump, and it didn't seem to be getting any easier. Nearby, he heard Carole vomiting into a bag left in the seat pockets for precisely that purpose.

Up front, Billy was also steadying himself. Despite his pallor, he rallied. "As I was saying," he said, as if absolutely nothing had happened, "we'll be able to increase water rations as we develop a system for reclamation, but until then-"

"Wait a minute," a man in the back asked, fear all too clear in his voice. "We just jumped. Does that mean that the Cylons found us?"

"That is what Condition One means, sir," Billy said. "Until then, we need to-"

"The Cylons just found us and you're just sitting there?" someone else demanded.

"No, we just jumped," Billy said, obviously trying to keep his temper leashed. "The Cylons won't be able to follow us during a jump." He extended his hands in a gesture that was meant to be calming, but the crowd was only becoming more agitated. "Look, that's how we've gotten away before, and-"

"But they just found us again!"

Will studied the kids' faces. They looked terrified, not that he could blame them. He was feeling it himself. Mike was standing next to him, and Will squeezed his shoulder. "You okay?" he asked quietly. Mike nodded, but his lips were pressed together so tightly that the corners of his mouth were turning white. "We're gonna be all right, okay?" Will said, trying to reassure him.

Up front, Billy was trying to reassure the terrified passengers, too, but it was hard to swallow it. Not because it was coming from a kid ten years younger than himself, and not because they were all still waiting for the captain to set Condition Three, but because none of them knew what was coming next, and nothing that Billy said could hide that fact.

Will bent his head forward and leaned it against the seat.

***

Billy left shortly after the attack, heading back to relatively small passenger ship they were already calling _Colonial One_. The meeting dispersed and although a lot of people stayed in the passenger cabin, many made their way out, presumably to find privacy in other parts of the ship. Will was thinking about braving the bathroom when the address system crackled into life. "Condition One has been set throughout the Fleet. Jumping in ten… nine… eight…."

"But we just jumped a half hour ago!" Quinn said, her eyes wide. She struggled to sit up from where she was slumped against the wall, an open book in her lap. "They found us already?"

"Maybe it's not an attack," Artie suggested. "Maybe Commander Adama-" he stopped for a moment as they lurched into the jump, turning pale. Artie swallowed hard and then finished his thought. "Maybe Commander Adama just thinks it's best if we stay on the move."

"Maybe," Will agreed feebly.

"You know," Sue broke in from her seat, "you'd think someone with glasses that thick would realize that, as smart a ploy as that might be in Halo Rising Stabbing Three or whatever it is you brain-dead morons all play, it's not a good idea for this Fleet. Fuel's going to be running at a premium soon enough, which means jumping every, " she looked at her watch, "thirty three minutes is going to put one hell of a strain on any resources that are kicking around this collection of tin cans. Any idea how much fuel it takes to make a jump, Sparky?" she asked.

"Wait…" Artie asked when no one answered. "Which one of us is Sparky?"

"I don't care. Any one of you," Sue said, waving her hand dismissively. "Well, when my parents were jumping around the galaxy chasing after Cylons…" Sue stopped for a minute, as if she was considering something. "Huh. Anyway, when my parents were famous toaster hunters, rounding up the last remnants of the Cylon war, their fuel money would come out of my and my sister's allowance. Each jump cost us a holoband use and three trips to the movies, with popcorn."

"What are you saying, Sue?" Will asked tiredly.

"I'm saying, William, that Commander Adama isn't just jumping around to keep the toasters on their toes. If we're jumping, it's because they've found us again. No sense lying to ourselves."

"They're still after us," Rachel said, almost hyperventilating. "They're still coming."

"We should do something," Puck growled angrily, standing up and starting to pace.

"What?" Kurt asked. "Beat them up? Toss them in the dumpsters?" He examined his nails, and then turned a mocking glare on Puck. "Slushee the Cylons?"

Puck started to answer, and then cut himself off with an angry huff. "Well, there's got to be something!"

"Well, there's not, okay?" Mercedes said. She had her arm around Rachel. "So chill out. All you're doing is getting everyone else upset."

"Mercedes is right, guys," Will said. "There's nothing we can do right now but wait."

"Well, frak that," Puck muttered, but he thumped into a seat next to Finn and glared out the window. Finn gave him a sympathetic half-smile.

"Look at it this way," Tina said, trying to smile brightly and failing. "We're still alive. We've jumped away. That means they haven't followed us, right?"

"That's right," Will jumped in, eager to break up the arguments. "We're alive, and the fact we've made it this far is a good thing. The _Galactica_ might be a relic, but it sounds like our strategy is to run. They've lost the element of surprise, and that's good, too. So cheer up, guys. I really think we've got a shot at this."

They weren't all convinced. Puck turned away, scowling, and Kurt gave him the flat stare that meant he thought Will was an idiot. Sue snorted, and Sam looked dubious. But Tina's face lit up with hope, and Rachel and Mercedes squeezed hands. Artie closed his eyes, and even Finn looked a little more sure of himself. Will smiled at them all. "We're going to make it through this," he told them, and then sat down and opened a book. Some of them believed him. He stared blindly at the pages, wishing it was easy to believe it himself.

Thirty-three minutes later, they jumped again.

***

"Mr. Schue?"

It was the fourteenth time they'd jumped in a little over seven hours. Will rubbed his forehead and put down the book he was only pretending to read. "What is it, Rachel?" he asked.

"Mr. Schue, I was thinking," Rachel began, sliding into the seat next to him. "As glee club captain, it is my responsibility to keep morale alive. After all, if I can't stay hopeful in the face of near death, how can they expect themselves to, right?"

"Right," Will sighed. "You're right. What are you going to do?"

"I was thinking…" Rachel leaned forward, her eyes shining, "we should rehearse a new number."

"Rachel-"

"No! It's just the thing! And if the All-Colony Show Choir Competition-"

"I think it's safe to say that that's been cancelled, Rachel," Will said dryly.

"Well, you never know," said Rachel Berry, eternal optimist. "Some of the teams for the other Colonies might be on board other ships. And even if it is cancelled, then we won by forfeit."

"We won by nuclear holocaust!" Will protested.

"Whatever." Rachel scooted to the front of her seat. "My point is, Mr. Schue, what else are we going to do? We can sit around, dwelling on the Cylons and how they could kill us at any moment, or we could put together a new and fabulous show, keep ourselves busy, raise the spirits of all of our fellow survivors, and position ourselves to become stars within the Fleet!"

Will was about to answer when the intercom crackled into life yet again. "Preparing to jump in ten… nine… eight…."

"You either timed this very well or very poorly," Will said, gripping the armrests and closing his eyes against the impending nausea. He waited until they jumped, and as the engines began to spool down again, he didn't open his eyes right away, but thought about Rachel's request. A lot of it was hyperbole and teenage ego that anything any of them could do would matter right now. But like a lot of what Rachel said, there was a grain of truth there as well. "You're right," he finally said, opening his eyes. "It would give us something to do. Let's round the others up."

Rachel beamed.

***

"You've got to be frakking kidding me," Puck said.

"Come on, Puck," Mercedes argued. "Rachel's right. What else are we going to do right now?"

"It's the end of the world, and you want us to sing about it?" Puck shouted. "No frakking way!"

"As much as it pains me to say it, I'm with Puck on this one," Kurt said. "I know I have no right to complain, since my family is all here, but even just losing Blaine doesn't exactly make me feel like singing. And don't," he said, holding up a finger at Mercedes and Rachel, "tell me to channel my pain. It's too early."

"But you need to-" Rachel began.

"Don't," Kurt ordered her firmly.

Mercedes looked rattled, but then turned and addressed the rest of the group. "Rachel is right," she repeated. "We need to do _something_, and this is all we've got."

Tina shrugged. "I'm all for it. It's better than just sitting here waiting to die."

"Not like I've got any better ideas," Artie agreed.

Rachel took that as acquiescence for the entire group. "Good," she said, clapping her hands together. "Now, I've got something I've been working on just for the occasion-"

"Wait," Will interrupted, confounded. "You have a song you've been working on just in case there was a nuclear holocaust?"

"Of course," Rachel said. "A diva has to be prepared for _anything._"

It was the end of the worlds. Will figured he could be forgiven for banging his head against the wall.

***

It took them over an hour to find a place to practice. Rachel had first assumed they could just use a corner of the passenger cabin, but that was before Burt pointed out that other people might like to hear themselves think. Will split the kids up to search the various cargo pods. The pods were divided into individual compartments of varying sizes, and eventually Brittany and Santana found an area they thought would work, if they could clear it out. That took another two hours of heavy lifting and shifting, all to yield a space that was maybe fifteen feet by fifteen feet. It wasn't enough for them to dance at all, and cramming all twelve kids and Will in was a trick. It wasn't helped by the fact that it had been a while since anyone had had a shower, and that there had been four jumps in the time that it took to set up. But after some of the kids had climbed up on crates, it was at least tolerable.

To all the kids' credit, they all settled down in the tiny room and joined in. In some cases, it was more going through the motions than any real desire to be there, but Will wasn't going to raise any issues about that right now.

"Wait," Rachel said suddenly. "There's no music."

"There's no _piano_," Santana pointed out.

It was Quinn who said it first, quietly. "Brad's dead."

It was like a punch in the gut, that realization, and all of the kids looked at him. "Is that true, Mr. Schuester?" Artie asked, not because he didn't know the answer, but because he didn't want to believe it.

Will nodded. "It's true," he said, his voice a little mangled. "I mean, I guess. He was going to take a flight the day after we left." As were the kids in the jazz club.

"I don't know why you're all so shocked," Puck said. "We knew it."

"Yeah," Finn agreed, "but to hear it… I mean, it just…" he trailed off, confused.

"It makes it more real," Mercedes said. "I mean, I get that my mom and my dad and my brother are gone," she said, her voice cracking. Quinn, who was siting next to her, took her hand and squeezed it. "But I've been thinking so much about them that I hadn't thought about everyone else who's gone, too."

"Look," Santana said before Will could say anything, "I thought the idea right now was to sing and forget that the Cylons were hot on our asses. If this is just going to turn into an emo fest, I'm out."

Rachel bristled. "It's not 'emo' to mourn someone that we know," she shot back.

Will intervened before the argument could get out of hand. "It's not emo," he agreed, "but at the same time, Santana is right. What we've been through already, and what we're going through… it's a lot for any one human being to process. Let's just take a break from it and do what we came here to do."

They didn't end up rehearsing the song Rachel had chosen, but instead worked through the backlog of all the songs they'd sung over the past two and a half years. It was on the fourth song that Will began to notice they were attracting an audience. Not that anyone could squeeze into their little hideaway, but there were people congregating outside, listening. The kids seemed absorbed in their songs, although he would bet all the cubits he had left that Rachel was aware people were listening.

Any illusion was shattered, though, when Burt elbowed through. The kids were in the middle of a spirited rendition of "Lean On Me" and the people in the doorway were swaying along. Will edged over to the door. "Carole okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Burt said. "The doc here gave her something for her stomach." He gestured over his shoulder at the man standing behind him; a tall, solidly built dark-skinned man who smiled at him tentatively. "She's sleeping though."

"Lucky her," Will said before he could think. Fortunately, Burt took the sentiment just right.

"Yeah, I know," he said with a rueful smile. "If I could sleep through this, I would, too. But hey, this here is Doc O'Neill. He was wondering if he and his little girl could listen."

Will looked down, finally noticing a little girl with long, messy hair. She didn't look anything like her father, but she clung to him with a fierceness that broke Will's heart. "Sure," he said, stepping aside and letting them in.

The kids had finished "Lean On Me" and started in on "Frak You," complete with the original lyrics, not the toned-down "Forget You" version they'd learned in school. Will cringed, but Dr. O'Neill just laughed. "After what she's just lived through, a little bad language isn't going to do any additional damage," he said.

Relieved that he saw it that way, Will relaxed. The kids sounded a lot more relaxed themselves, he admitted, and by now were really enjoying the music. The little girl was still clinging to her father's hand, but a smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Tina noticed her first and smiled at her. The little girl smiled back, and eventually all of the kids were singing to her. All of the kids except Puck, who slid off his crate and pushed his way out of the room.

The other kids noticed him leaving- there was no way not to in a space that small- but they didn't stop singing. For a few moments, Will thought that he would just leave the kid alone. Puck had never been a student that had opened up to teachers well, not like Rachel or Finn. But at the same time, he'd had one hell of a shock. Deciding that he at least needed to make sure Puck wasn't about to flush himself out an airlock or slit his own wrists, Will slipped out of the room, leaving the kids singing with Dr. O'Neill's little girl.

It was crowded in the narrow passage outside their storage compartment, with several adults listening to the kids sing, so Puck hadn't made it very far. The range of emotions in that hall, from grateful to wistful to angry, was overwhelming. Will avoided any eyes and grabbed Puck's shoulder when he caught up.

"What the frak?" Puck demanded, flinching away from him. "I can't even get a minute to myself?"

Will truly did feel for Puck, but something about the way he'd left made him nervous. He pulled Puck aside to an emptier part of the corridor. "What's going on, Puck?"

For a long moment, Will didn't think Puck would answer. But finally he just said, "I remember my sister being that age."

"Oh."

"That little shit couldn't have been that much younger than my sister," Puck said. "She looked like she was six or seven. My sister's _ten._"

Will just stared.

"Why the frak did she get away, huh?" Puck demanded. "Why not my sister? Because she had someone there to protect her, that's why. If I'd been home with my mom and my sister instead of coming to this frakking competition-"

"You'd be dead right now, too," Will cut him off.

"You don't know that!"

It was possible- although Sue was probably right- but it was _possible_ that the population of Lima, a small enough city that Will supposed it wouldn't be directly targeted, could be alive. But the Cylons had used nuclear weapons. If people were still alive in Lima right now, they wouldn't be for long.

"Puck, I know what you're going through. Everyone on this ship does. We've all lost people. But if we'd been back on Gemenon, we wouldn't have escaped."

"But at least they wouldn't have died alone!" Puck yelled. Then he quieted and turned away. "I get what you're trying to do right now, okay? But just leave me alone."

He wanted to stay, to convince Puck that there wasn't anything he could have done. Will had to fight that instinct hard. _Everything_ was gone. Didn't he have the right to lock himself in with grief and anger? He didn't look like he was going to take drastic measures, anyway, so Will nodded and backed away.

"All right," he said. "But if you need me, you know where I am."

As Will left, they jumped again.

***

Dr. O'Neill asked Will to call him Simon. "Being called doctor all the time is very dehumanizing," he said with a laugh. "I suppose that's part of the idea, but it still irks me."

They were settled in the passenger cabin again. The kids had worn themselves out singing, and several had curled in their seats to sleep. A few were still awake. Kurt was sitting next to where Carole slept, reading a book and checking on her every five minutes, Puck was still nowhere to be seen, and Tina was still playing with the little girl, whom they'd learned was named Jemmy.

"She's my stepdaughter," Simon explained, looking at the girl fondly. "I married her mother three years ago. Jemmy doesn't even remember her biological father." His face fell. "And now she's going to grow up not remembering her mother."

"She's old enough to remember," Will argued. "She's, what, six?"

"Seven." Simon sighed, settled back, and then checked his watch. "Bet we're jumping in three minutes."

He was right. Afterwards, they settled into quiet talk. Will told Simon about the kids he was chaperoning and the competition they'd been heading to, and Simon explained how he was a medic working in the Colonial Fleet. He had some entertaining stories, and he had Will laughing when suddenly, they were interrupted.

"Heard the news, William?" Sue asked, looming above them.

"What news, Sue?" Will asked tiredly.

Sue smirked. "While you all were singing your little nursery rhymes down in the cellar of the _Cybele_, I was having a little sit down pow-wow with the captain. Seems she heard about the time I spent in the Marines Special Forces sniping in the Scorpian jungle, and she wanted a little advice. Turns out, there's some very important news that you're going to be _very_ interested in, William."

"What is it?"

"That Cylons can look human. Completely, utterly, and unmistakably human."

Will's blood ran cold. "No," he said, his mouth dry. "You're joking."

"Not at all. Turns out they found one on Ragnar Station, and there was another that some Baltar guy identified. Rumor has it there are twelve different models, but only two have been identified."

"Oh my Gods," Will said. Simon looked just as terrified, his hand clutching the armrest between them.

Sue, however, just smiled. "And you know," she began, "I've always believed that hair like yours could never be natural. Although why anyone would want to _create_ such a hairstyle when they could make anything they wanted is beyond me, but I've also seen the pictures of the two known Cylons and let me tell you, you're winning the beauty prize there, William."

The implications of her accusation ran through him immediately. "That is not true! I am _not_ a Cylon," Will hissed at her. "And if you dare to tell anyone that I am…."

"Relax, William," Sue said, knocking the seat with her fist. "Like I said, I can't believe anyone would actually _make_ hair like that. Just thought you'd want to know." And with a wink, she sauntered off.

Will slumped in his seat, exhaling and trying to get his heart to stop racing. "She's diabolical," he said when he could finally speak again. The worst was he had no doubt that Sue was telling the truth. It was too… he had to believe it because it made too much sense. And because that threat felt way too real.

"You're not a Cylon," Simon said, trying to sound reassuring.

"_I_ know that," Will said. "But if she chooses to say that I am, how do I convince everyone I'm not?"

"Because we'll speak for you." Both Will and Simon started, and Will realized he had completely forgotten that Kurt was still awake and nearby. His pale face was even paler, but other than that he looked composed, his book on his lap and his legs crossed like usual. "If you were a Cylon, you'd be on the Colonies for some sort of strategic work, I would imagine. I'm not sure what the Cylons would be doing, but I think it's a fair bet that they wouldn't be a language teacher and glee club coach in Lima, Gemenon. Why would _anyone_ go there if they didn't have to?"

Will shrugged, but Simon nodded. "He's right," he said. "It's the people that don't have others with them, people who are alone in the Fleet, who are in more danger. And there are going to be a lot of those."

"Who don't have Sue Sylvester after them," Will pointed out.

Kurt flipped his hand. "Well," he suggested, "you can always counter with the idea that _she's_ a Cylon. People might even believe it. But really, unless the Cylons have such bad fashion sense that they think vests or track suits are _de rigeur_, I'm sure that you are both quite safe."

Worried as he still was, Will couldn't help smiling.

***

The hours dragged on. Will tried to sleep, but it was punctuated with nightmares. Not just about the people they'd lost back on Gemenon, but the kids. Some of the dreams were scarily direct; Puck shot through the throat, Santana and an explosion, Tina screaming for Mike to come back from wherever he'd gone, Finn saying he was ready to die. Others weren't so clear, but easy enough to understand; Kurt alone and shivering in a small room, Sam trapped in darkness and trying to break free before a bomb went off, Quinn in a harem, on her knees, Mercedes crying over a candle, smoke in the hall around her. And others made no sense at all; Artie working the radio, Rachel walking through mud, and Brittany standing against a wall of white lights, alone. But Will had the feeling the world wasn't ever going to make sense again.

***

"Get the frak out!" a woman shouted.

"Who says?" a man countered.

"That kid that was here on orders of President Roslin-"

"President!"

Will shoved through the crowd that was gathering, well-accustomed to getting to the center of disturbance. "Hey, hey, HEY!" he shouted. "What the hell is going on here?"

For a moment, he regretted it. The woman who had been yelling at the man towered over Will by a good three inches, and her build made him think of Shannon Bieste, although her face was completely different. The man was even taller and wider, and for a moment, Will just looked from one to the other with the sinking feeling that this was a really bad idea. But you couldn't show fear in a situation like this. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded again, telling himself they were just kids. Just kids in the hallway, in a fight over some stupid thing.

The woman didn't really look at him. "We are _not_ supposed to be taking things out of these cargo pods!" she shouted at her opponent. "That kid who was here said so!"

"Frak him!" the man shouted back. Will was suddenly aware that there were several more people behind him in the narrow passageway. "Who died and made Roslin president anyway?"

"Actually, that would be the forty-two government officials before her," Will said, trying to interject some humor as well as logic into the argument. "She _is_ the Secretary of Education."

"And she doesn't get to say how we spend our last hours!" the man riposted. "We keep jumping and jumping- they keep finding us and finding us! So let's see what's in these compartments of goodies and use what we can rather than just frakking sitting here and waiting for us all to be blown up!"

"You don't know that!" the woman snapped. "We've gotten away this long, and if we keep getting away-"

"That's one hell of an if! They killed off everyone not in these ships!"

"But we're not dead yet! We're going to get away!"

"ENOUGH!" Will shouted, shoving his shoulder between the two of them. "This is ridiculous. I-"

He didn't see the punch coming, although in retrospect, he should have. People were angry, hurt, lost… and he put himself right into the center of it. This wasn't a high school brawl; these were adults who had lost their entire world.

The impact slammed him back against the wall, and the man followed up with a sharp uppercut to his ribs. Will had never been much of a fighter- never had much of a reason to be a fighter- and he instinctively curled up on himself, slumping down the wall and trying to protect his abdomen and face. It wasn't overly successful, and more blows landed. He was aware that there was shouting, the sounds of flesh against flesh, and a foot connected with his gut and he had to choke back the bile that rose.

A loud, piercing whistle split the air, and cold water splashed down. Will couldn't see what was happening, but the man tearing him to pieces (was it just the man? Or were there others? Will couldn't tell.) was yanked off him. Then everything went dark.

***

He came back to consciousness with something cool trickling over his forehead. "You okay?" A face came into view, and Will finally recognized it as Simon. Simon put pressure on a spot that hurt like hell.

"Yeah," Will groaned, although he didn't really feel it. He looked around. "Not like high school kids."

"What were you thinking?" Simon demanded.

"He wasn't," another voice said, and Will closed his eyes. "It's really not one of his strengths."

"This what you wanted to see, Sue?" he asked.

"Can't say I'm not enjoying it," she admitted with a grim sort of glee. She was standing over him with her arms crossed. That was when Will realized that he wasn't on the floor of the passageway outside the cargo bay. And he wasn't in the passenger cabin, either.

"Where am I?" he asked blearily.

"Your kids kind of claimed the area that they cleared out," Simon told him. He helped Will sit up, pressing firm hands to various points on his body to check for bruises or breaks. Will blinked and saw the crates and a heap of suitcases. He looked down to see that he was lying on a collection of airline blankets.

"Where are all the kids?" Will groaned.

"They hopped in their convertibles and drove on down to the local convenience store for booze and cigarettes," Sue said sarcastically. "It's a spaceship, Will. They're all aboard somewhere."

His head really hurt. "What about the Cylons?" he asked.

"They're still after us. We jumped again while you were out."

"How many jumps does that make now?" Will asked.

"Sixty-three."

Will groaned and dropped his head forward into his hands. Every thirty-three minutes. Like clockwork. "Seriously, Sue. Where are the kids?"

"How the frak should I know? If you're so worried, William, implant tracking devices behind their ears."

"That's not legal," Simon told her.

"And neither was rewiring the Gemenese Air Traffic Control System to label the flight that the Caprican cheerleading champions were on as Sagittaron rebels and getting them dragged off to prison, thus disqualifying them from the All-Colony Cheerleading Championship, but I never heard anyone complaining."

Simon looked horrified. Will waved it away. "She talks like that all the time," he muttered. "Get used to it."

"Legality is going to be a thing of the past," Sue predicted. "Because what's left? If all the reports are accurate, I've heard there's maybe fifty thousand of us left alive. And I'm betting that it's not all idealists and cops and lawmakers. People are crazy, as you just saw when you tried to take on three people twice your size. Not that I didn't appreciate it."

Will had the distinct feeling the conversation was getting out of hand. Worse, his head was still killing him, and now that he was more awake, he was aware of a significant amount of pain in his side as well. He groaned again and sank back into the nest of blankets.

"Come on," Simon insisted. "Let me get you examined, and then you can sleep." As Will slowly pulled off his shirt, he heard Captain Xu announce another jump.

Sixty-four.

***

The sound of the kids arguing woke Will out of a pain-filled doze. He slitted his eyes open.

"One hundred and forty-one," Tina moaned, leaning against Mike's shoulder and closing her eyes. "One hundred and forty-one jumps."

"It's been over three days," Sam added unnecessarily.

The kids were in the compartment they'd claimed. They'd managed to clear more of the crates out so everyone could fit in, but it was still a small, cramped space, especially for sixteen people. Although there was obviously oxygen, the air circulation wasn't great, so the small room was worse than stale. The kids had managed to find blankets, but there were no pillows or mattresses. Not that it mattered; none of them slept well when the Cylons found them every thirty three minutes.

"I can't believe we can't even get showers," Kurt complained. "I don't even want to know what my skin looks like."

"Who cares what we look like?" Santana asked. "We're all going to die soon anyway."

"I'd prefer not to have my last moments with greasy hair and clogged pores," Kurt said haughtily. "It's not really how I want to be remembered."

"No one's going to be left to remember you," Santana countered sourly. "We'll all be dead."

"I'm starving," Finn complained. "If we've gotta die, I'd rather do it on a full stomach."

"I heard that there's a lot of food on some of the other ships," Artie said hopefully. Will was pleased that the kids had made the effort to get him down here; it probably hadn't been easy with the configuration of the ship. "Once we stop jumping-"

"How're we gonna do that, brainiac?" Puck demanded. "If we don't stand and fight, there's no way they're gonna stop coming for us. They've found us one hundred and forty-"

"One hundred and forty-one," Tina interrupted.

"One hundred and forty-one times," Puck said. "What's gonna make any time any different?"

"I don't understand why we're getting away anyway," Brittany said, and Will could hear her frustration. "If we have FTL drives and the Cylons have FTL drives-"

"They can't see where we're going," Sam explained. "We leave so quickly and they have no idea of what direction or how far we've gone. And searching space for something so small like a few ships isn't easy. They shouldn't be able to find us."

"But they do," Mike said.

"I feel like we should be panicking more," Rachel said, leaning against Finn's arm and closing her eyes. "Like I should be more scared."

"I'm scared," Mercedes reassured her. "I think I'm just numb because I'm so frightened."

Silence, and when Will looked, they were all looking at each other, drawing a little closer. They were all terrified, and there was nothing that Will could do or say to reassure them.

He closed his eyes again.

***

They called it night, because that's what the clocks said. The ship was quieter, with people trying to sleep. Will woke up to one of the kids crying. He didn't know which one.

It didn't matter. He was pretty sure they were all doing it at some point anyway.

***

The hours ticked by, and the pain in his ribs got a little better. "I'm almost positive there's a break," Simon told Will, "but it's probably a crack." He wound a tight bandage around Will's torso. "If we ever get to stop, we'll get more pain medicine over here. And if we don't get to stop…" he shrugged. "I suppose it won't matter."

"I almost wish they'd just get us now," Will muttered, getting to his feet painfully. "The waiting…"

"They aren't going to get us," Simon said grimly. "We'll get away. Somehow."

***

"We should have a party!" Kurt said, a maniacal shrillness in his voice. They were crammed back in their cargo pod, just _waiting_, and Kurt was sitting with his knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them.

"A party?" Quinn asked dryly.

"That was jump two hundred," Kurt explained. "Surely that's some sort of cause for celebration."

"Dude, I'm pretty sure your eye is twitching," Finn pointed out.

"It's not," Kurt insisted. "I'm completely sane. When have I _not_ suggested a fabulous and elaborate party to celebrate something?"

"You're shaking," Finn said. "Come on, Kurt. You need… I don't know. To sleep, or something." He wrapped an arm around Kurt's shoulders and Kurt leaned his head against his shoulder.

Quinn looked over and caught Will watching. He saw it in her face. _Do something._

But he didn't know what he could do.

***

"I'd kill for a shower," Burt said, flopping down onto a blanket, pulling his cap over his eyes and folding his hands over his chest.

"Any chance of that happening?" Will asked. The compartment was empty except for the two of them.

"Got a pod that we're going to be able to plumb a line down to," Burt explained. "It's gonna be a gang set up. We might be able to partition it a little, but we'll have to see what people want to do. I think making more rooms might come before making individual showers."

A locker room shower wasn't something Will really relished the thought of, but the idea of a shower _at all_ right now overcame everything. He groaned.

"How are the ribs?" Burt asked him.

"They still hurt, but Simon says they aren't bad. Make me feel useless though," Will admitted.

"Only till we get through this," Burt said with a shrug. "Once we get away from the Cylons, a lot of realities are going to start hitting, and those kids are going to need someone to lean on."

"Yeah, realities," Will sighed.

Burt tipped his cap up and looked at him. "I'm not just talking about all their families being gone," he said. "I'm talking about the worlds being gone. That this," he gestured with one hand to the walls, "is it. There's no more theater, no more fashion college, no more community college, no more university, no more jobs waiting for them."

"No more future," Will realized, and the problems materialized in front of him. "They were all about to graduate in a few months. They all had these big plans and dreams that are never going to come true."

"Yeah. I think that's going to hit them harder than anything," Burt said. He glanced at his watch. "We've got ten minutes until the next jump. Maybe if I'm lucky, I can sleep through it." He settled down. "If Carole comes down, tell her to wake me up before she goes to sleep and I'll take over for her, okay?"

"I'll let her know." Will settled back, stretching his ribs experimentally. Burt's breathing evened out quickly, and Will realized it had been a long while since he'd seen either Burt or Carole down here.

It wasn't just the kids who had lost their dreams and purpose. Nothing was ever going to be the same, not for any of them. They were never going back to Gemenon- even without the Cylons overrunning it, it would be too poisoned now for humanity to survive.

Will pulled himself to his feet. Once he was up, the pain wasn't so bad. He slipped out of the compartment, leaving Burt to sleep in peace. He got as far as halfway down the narrow corridor before Captain Xu's voice came over the intercom system, crackly with static and broken up, but still understandable.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please prepare yourself for our jump. This is jump number two hundred and thirty-seven."

Will stopped and leaned against the wall. The jumps were becoming easier- a _lot_ easier- but he still found them uncomfortable, and not just because of the knowledge that the Cylons had found them yet again.

He found all of the kids settled in the passenger cabin. It had been rearranged a bit- some enterprising souls armed with crowbars and wrenches had turned some of the seats around so that there were conversation areas. The kids were crammed into one, singing softly. Will noticed that both Puck and Sam had managed to locate their guitars.

"Hey, Mr. Schue," Mercedes saw him first. "How's the ribs?"

"Better," Will said. "You guys got room for one more?" The kids rearranged themselves, and by the time Will managed to ease himself into a seat, they'd started a new song. Their harmonies were rough and more than one of them was out of tune. They looked terrible. The boys hadn't shaved, the girls all had their hair pulled back in tails because it was so lank and greasy. They all looked exhausted and pale and scared. But they were _singing_. Will joined in, keeping his voice soft and blending with the others.

They were so absorbed in singing that Will didn't look at his watch. It wasn't until they noticed the change of tone in the passenger cabin and people getting to their feet to look out the windows that Will realized it.

"What's going on?" Sam asked.

"It's been forty-five minutes since we jumped," Will said, his heart lifting. "Forty-five minutes."

"They're gone?" Tina asked incredulously. "We lost them?"

"No. It can't be." Puck turned in his seat, tossing his guitar back over his hip as he knelt on the seat to peer out the window. "They're not there," he said.

"What about the _Galactica_?" Artie asked.

"It's there."

"They must have done something," Artie said. "Maybe they took the Cylons out last time we jumped."

"One old battlestar against the Cylons?" Sam scoffed. "There's no way."

"Maybe they'll still find us," Finn said. "It's only been a few minutes. Maybe they had to stop and refuel or something. Or they just missed."

"Or they want to catch us off-guard," Rachel added. "Like when a performer leaves the stage and you think it's the end, and then after all the applause they come back on for an encore. It's a classic trick to endear yourself to your fans."

"So the Cylons are just waiting for a surprise encore?" Kurt asked sarcastically. "To endear themselves to us?"

Rachel shrugged. "Well, it's not a perfect analogy," she admitted. "But it's the same basic principle."

"Right."

"There's no way they're not coming for us again," Santana said. "You don't chase people like that and then just give up."

Will rubbed his face with his hand. A quick look around the cabin confirmed that others were talking about it as well. He wanted to be hopeful, but after everything they'd just been through, he couldn't believe there was reason to hope. And yet, the minutes crept by, and no Cylons appeared.

Maybe they were going to get that one in a million chance after all.

***

An hour passed. "Condition Two" was set throughout the Fleet, which Captain Xu explained meant a state of readiness. Her voice over the intercom was rough and exhausted, and Will realized she probably hadn't slept at all in those five days.

They were all hopeful. They were all scared. None of them could quite believe that the Cylons were gone, but minute after minute ticked by without their appearance. And finally, the need for sleep outweighed anything else, and they were all packed into the cramped cargo pad.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that Will would care who was sleeping next to who. But right now he couldn't bring himself to care that Rachel slept on Finn's chest, or that Mike and Tina were wrapped in each other's arms. Or that Quinn and Sam leaned on each other, or that Brittany was cuddled against Santana's side. Aside from the practicality of knowing that they were only going to sleep, he wasn't going to deny any one of them the comfort they needed.

He'd thought that, with the kids all here and asleep, he'd finally be able to let his mind wander to the horror of the past few days and everything that had been lost. He thought it would be time to grieve. But his exhaustion was as deep as theirs, and in minutes, he was asleep.

He slept so soundly that he was unaware that the Fleet jumped two hours later.

***

"Will Schuester?"

Will looked up from his food to see a small, dark-haired woman standing in front of him. She had beautiful almond shaped eyes, a small nose, and clear laugh lines from her nose to her mouth. She also had dark shadows marring her skin and her short hair pulled back into a messy ponytail.

"Can I help you?" he asked, setting aside his tray.

She smiled at him. "I'm Anne Xu," she said, extending her hand.

"Captain Xu?" he realized suddenly. "Wow. I… I was beginning to wonder if you really existed."

She smiled. "I was beginning to think I wasn't going to. But it's been twenty-four hours since our last jump, and here we are." She sat down. "I understand you're on board with a glee club."

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I am. They were on their way to the All-Colony competition."

"Several of the passengers have been talking about them."

"They aren't causing any trouble, are they?"

"No, no," she reassured him. "They've been talking about the singing. It's been a long few days, Will. For everybody. And it's going to be a long time before anything gets a lot better."

"I know," he sighed.

"I know it's not much," Captian Xu- _Anne_- said, "but Robert suggested that maybe… maybe your kids could put on a performance in the passenger cabin. Something to give people a break, take their minds off what's happening."

Will smiled. "Captain Xu, we'd be honored."

***

In the thirty-six hours since the last attack, supplies had started being spread through the Fleet. The most important upshot of that was that some piping had been delivered to the _Cybele_. Seven days after they'd taken off from Gemenon, Will was able to take a five-minute shower.

It was the best five minutes of his _life_.

The full night's sleep and the showers seemed to rejuvenate the kids as well, and now Will was standing on the side of the crowded passenger cabin, listening to them sing. He was amazed at how many people crammed in to watch, but like Captain Xu had said, people needed the break, the escape. Optimistic, hopeful teenagers singing songs about courage, tomorrows, and believing seemed to be exactly what they wanted.

The kids sounded good. There wasn't much room for them to dance, but on the bright side, that meant Finn couldn't accidentally kill anyone. The tension drained a little from Will's shoulders, and even his ribs started feeling better.

"'Don't Stop Believing,'" Sue said, and Will turned around. "Really, William, you never do change, do you?"

"After what humanity just accomplished, Sue, I think it's a worthy sentiment."

"Humanity," Sue scoffed. "It wasn't humanity. Do you know the Cylons were tracking us, William? Of course not. The story hasn't gotten around yet and you're always the last to know. They were tracking one of the ships in the Fleet. The _Olympic Carrier_."

"They found the bug?" Will asked.

"Given that I saw a couple of Vipers destroy the ship, I'm going to have to say no."

"They destroyed it?" Will asked, horrified. "Our own pilots?"

"Yup."

"Well, all the people were off, right?"

"Not unless they'd developed powers of teleportation."

"But there must have been hundreds of people on that ship!" Will protested.

"One thousand, three hundred and forty-five," Sue confirmed.

"Gods…."

"So, you were right, William," Sue said, as the kids launched from the bridge into the chorus.

"Right? About what?" Will sputtered.

"That we have a chance," Sue answered. "Because somewhere in this Fleet, there's someone who can make the hard decisions. The ones that no one else wants to make because they aren't hearts and flowers and rainbows, but those are the decisions that save lives. Whoever made that decision to destroy the _Olympic Carrier_ was willing to sacrifice a small part of humanity to save what was left. Whoever did that, William, is a frakking _hero_. And because that person exists and is in charge, yes. We have a chance."

The kids ended with a triumphant _don't stop believing_, and the passengers broke into applause. Will stared wordlessly at Sue. She smirked at him, winked, and then punched his arm gently.

"The show hasn't been half-bad. See you down in the room later," she said, and then walked away. Will watched her disappear into the crowd, feeling like he'd been kicked in the gut.

He turned back to the kids. They were sweaty, but flushed with success and smiling. The applause was still going strong, and for a glorious moment, they looked like twelve kids who still had a future ahead of them. Twelve kids who still had hope, who still had family, who still had dreams.

Will smiled grimly and lifted his chin. That's what they'd been. And, maybe, with a lot of luck and people watching out for them and helping them, that was what they could be again.


	2. It's Time To Be A Big Girl Now

Puck slammed a paper down on the table. "Look at this," he ordered.

"What are we looking at?" Finn asked. Brittany leaned over the table to see a few sheets of paper folded together, the print arranged into what looked like articles. She wondered how Puck had gotten a copy of the _Muckraker_.

"It's what's they're calling a newspaper right now," Puck said. "Guess the captains are getting sick of all the questions. But that's not what's important."

"What is, then?" Finn asked, picking up the paper, his forehead wrinkling like he was in deep thought. His eyes widened. "No way. I didn't realize there was a whole ship of convicts in the Fleet."

"Really?" Brittany asked. "My father threatened to send me off to a convict once, after he caught me with Craig Jacobson."

They were sitting in what everyone now just called the cabin; the passenger cabin that had been converted to a dining hall and common area. The seats were still arranged in small groups, but now more tables had been found and people had started hanging posters and artwork on the walls in an attempt to make it look less like a transport vehicle and more like a home. New Directions had essentially claimed one little alcove as their own, and most of them were sitting there now. Brittany was curled in a seat with her feet tucked under her. Puck's eyes disturbed her greatly right now.

"Not convent," Quinn said. "Convicts. They're the ones that did the water drilling a few weeks ago, right?"

"Yes, but that's not what I'm talking about" Puck said impatiently. "_That,_" he said, jabbing his finger at an article. "_Finally_. A call for new recruits for the military. Not just people who know how to fly, but people without any experience at all. A chance for us to kick some toaster ass. You guys are in, right?"

"In what?" Finn asked.

"In the military!" Puck said. "What do you think? That we're going to sit around on this frakking ship being cargo hauled to Earth and doing nothing? It's time to get out there and give those frakking toasters exactly what they deserve." The kids all looked at each other. "What?" Puck demanded. "There is no way you're all are gonna be complete pussies about this, are you? Haul yourself up by the balls and _fight_."

"Kind of lacking in the balls department," Santana said dryly, and then shrugged one shoulder. "But then, so are you, so whatever. I'm in." Brittany stared at her questioningly, but Santana slid her eyes away with a smirk and a shrug that meant she didn't think it was a big deal. But it _was_ a big deal. Brittany knew that. She wasn't sure what she thought of the idea yet, but she knew it was _big_.

Puck nodded. "What about the rest of you?" he said, glaring around at all of them. Tina looked away, and Sam shifted uncomfortably. Rachel opened her mouth and then shut it again without saying anything. Mercedes picked up the paper and pressed her lips together. Brittany kind of agreed with them- Puck looked flat-out _scary_ right now. "I can't believe this," Puck said. "There's no way you guys can _not_ think about this. Kurt?"

Kurt made a face. "Because the Gemenese military has always been so accepting of homosexuals."

"But this isn't Gemenon, idiot," Puck said. "There's none of that 'don't ask, don't shout it from the rooftops' bullshit."

"I'll think about it," Kurt said dryly.

"Think about what?" Mr. Schuester interrupted, sounding a lot more cheerful than anyone else.

"Puck just has some ideas," Finn said, taking the paper and shoving it in his back pocket. "What's going on, Mr. Schuester?"

Mr. Schuester had a woman with him. She wasn't a tall woman, and had dark skin like Simon and hair that was cut so short that Brittany wondered if she'd seen the same article that Puck had and was here to convince them all to enlist. "This is Sarah Porter," Will explained. "She was the Dean of Aslanis College."

The scowl left Kurt's face, and he sat up excitedly. "Aslanis? In Illumini? That was where I was going to go."

Sarah Porter's eyes raked over him, and her resultant smile was tight. Brittany wondered if she thought that Kurt's bright yellow sweater was inappropriate for an apocalypse. "You and five thousand, six hundred and ten others," she said, and Kurt cringed. "I'm sorry," she backtracked stiffly, "but you are probably the sole surviving member of that entering class."

"Right," Mr. Schuester said awkwardly, and then clapped his hands together in an obvious effort to change the subject. "Anyway, guys, Ms. Porter wanted to meet you all."

Ms. Porter tore her eyes away from Kurt and smiled at them all, and her smile changed her face from stern to soft and pretty. Brittany liked her smile- it reminded her of her first grade teacher, the one that had always given Brittany a few extra animal crackers at snack time. "That's right. Captain Xu has told me about your group," she said. "As I'm sure you know, we've been trying to get news to the ships in the Fleet more efficiently. To that effect, we have started several regular wireless broadcasts, and we're trying to get a television broadcast as well."

Rachel gasped eagerly, half rising to her feet. "You want us to sing for the Fleet?"

Ms. Porter nodded. "I'd like to include a short program that we can use on the broadcasts once we have a working network. It would be an excellent addition to what we've got."

Singing. For the entire Fleet. Brittany sat up a little straighter, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She couldn't believe it. Her mother always talked about silver linings in clouds, and Brittany knew that this was one of them. Everything suddenly seemed a little brighter, a little more hopeful.

"What do you think, guys?" Will said, smiling widely.

Rachel's grin went from ear to ear. "Mr. Schue," she said breathlessly, "did you even need to ask?".

***

Ms. Porter sent a green shuttle that reminded Brittany of a minivan for them to come over to _Cloud 9_, an immense luxury liner that had recording equipment on it. Brittany wished they could see more of the ship, but they were whisked down the halls and into a room with a stage without the chance to look around. The stage was about half the size of the one at McKinley, and there were no seats, which Brittany assumed meant people would dance.

"Very big-band style," Ms. Porter said, nodding with satisfaction.

"Looks good," Mr. Schuester agreed. "Not too different from our own auditorium, is it, guys?" It totally was, but Brittany nodded anyway, because it seemed like that was what Mr. Schuester wanted to hear.

"What they want are happy, hopeful numbers," Ms. Porter explained, now addressing them all. "What I want is something optimistic, youthful, and wholesome. You all are representing what is left of Gemenese culture to what is left of the Twelve Colonies. Our Colony has always been known for its faith and its devotion to the Sacred Scrolls. Others are going to be looking to us to lead them in their faith in the Gods and on this journey to Earth."

Rachel's hand shot in the air. "Mr. Schue? May I take this moment to suggest that we bring out some of the old standards? They are recognizable, well-received-"

"And conveniently feature all of your solos," Santana pointed out. Brittany snickered.

Ms. Porter was looking Rachel over. "Which might not be a bad thing," she said. "That's exactly the sort of face we're looking for. Let's start there."

For Brittany, the day passed quickly. It might be tedious work, with a lot of repetitions of the same songs, but it was _work_, and it was much better than sitting around on the _Cybele_ all day. Even better than singing was getting to dance again. The _Cybele_ was so cramped that dancing was impossible. But with this much space, it was like flying, almost, even if Brittany couldn't open up and really _dance_ like she wanted to. At one point she caught Mike's eye, and she saw the same feeling reflected on his face. They smiled at each other, flushed and sweating and happy from the movement. One of the songs they did was "Valerie", which was easily one of Brittany's favorite songs that New Directions had ever done. Between getting to dance and Santana's amazing vocals, it was just _hot_. She even caught Ms. Porter's foot tapping along with the beat, and she knew that, once TV existed again, she was definitely going to be on it.

Awesome.

It was an exhausting day but a good one. In fact, it was the best day that Brittany had had since the attacks. She was disappointed when it was time to get on the small shuttle to head back to the _Cybele_, but she settled in a seat next to Santana, right in front of Ms. Porter. She peered out the window, looking at the ships. This was a different view of them than she ever got in the _Cybele_, and they did look pretty against the stars.

"Your group is really extraordinary," she heard Ms. Porter tell Rachel as they flew across the Fleet. "I've never really even _heard_ of show choir, but I'm sure you would have done wonderfully at your competition."

"Yes," Rachel sighed. "It was too bad that we were denied the opportunity to compete, but I think that, with the songs we wrote two days before we left and the talent in our group, we would have won. As it is, I consider us the All-Colony Show Choir Champions."

"You know," Ms. Porter said, "There's a lot of organization to be done in this Fleet. A lot of things are changing, but one thing that will remain is the structure of our democracy. We're reforming the Quorum of Twelve."

"Ms. Porter is probably going to be the Gemenese representative, Rachel," Mr. Schuester put in.

Brittany leaned over to Santana. "It sounds like they're propositioning her," she whispered.

"Huh?" Santana had been far away. She looked back over her shoulder and shrugged. "Right. No one would proposition _that_."

Brittany peeked back. Mr. Shuester was sitting by the window, with Ms. Porter next to him and Rachel next to her. In the row behind them, she could see that she wasn't the only one eavesdropping; Kurt was listening with a very interested expression. Brittany waved.

"You're a very talented girl," Ms. Porter continued. "And from what your teacher tells me, you were an excellent student. I'm looking for a personal aide. Would you be interested?"

"Told you," Brittany whispered to Santana.

"Ms. Porter," Rachel said carefully, "I'm very flattered that you're extending this opportunity to me. But the theater has always been my first love."

"The theater doesn't exist anymore," Ms. Porter said gently.

"No, of course, not right now," Rachel said. "But it will, someday. And I need to be ready for that day. What you're offering me is fantastic, it really is, and I see that… but I feel that I need to find a place in this Fleet that's closer to my dreams."

"Well, consider it," Ms. Porter told her. "And let me know."

They were coming up on the _Cybele_. It had looked so big when they got on it on Gemenon. Now that Brittany had seen some of the other ships in the Fleet, she realized it really wasn't that big. It was kind of old and beat up, and it wasn't as impressive as the wheelie ship or as interesting as the ship that looked like it had three dinner plates on top. It was just squat and boring and nothing interesting. She wished she didn't have to get back on.

They were all filing out of the shuttle when she heard Kurt's voice. "Ms. Porter," he began. "If I may?" She didn't answer, but she must have nodded or something because Kurt rushed on. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Rachel, and her answer. If you are interested in a personal assistant, I would be delighted to take on the job. I was accepted at Aslanis, and I am extremely organized and punctual. Not to mention, I could bring a certain… _flair_ to both the job and possibly even to you, if you so desired. After all, politics _is_ largely perception."

"It is," Ms. Porter agreed, giving Kurt _that look_ again. "And I'm sorry, but you're just not what I'm looking for." She turned away, leaving Kurt staring after her with an open mouth. "Rachel, get in touch with me if you change your mind. I'm over on the _Faru Sadin_." She hurried to catch up with Mr. Schuester.

Brittany looked at Kurt, who suddenly looked very sad and very young. She patted his shoulder sympathetically. "She didn't ask me, either."

He looked at her from the sides of his eyes. "And she probably wouldn't, if she knew more about you," he said bitterly. Then he shook his head. "You'd think such trivialities wouldn't matter at the end of the world, but apparently, they do." He flounced off.

Brittany stared after him, and then shrugged. Kurt always took things personally.

Santana came up beside her and linked her arm through Brittany's, pulling her away. "So," Santana said, with something of a purr, "Puck's idea."

"He suggested a threesome again?"

"No," Santana said, half-affectionate and half-impatient. "The military. _Galactica_. You're coming, right?" She led Brittany out of the tiny docking bay and into the corridor of their cargo pod. The narrow passageways seemed a lot more cramped than they had before they'd been over to _Cloud 9_. Brittany stared at them rather than really thinking about what Santana was trying to say.

"I don't know," Brittany said, when Santana started getting that _don't ignore me or you will pay_ look. "I was just squeaking by with my grades."

"What, like Puckerman's the genius of the century?" Santana scoffed. She pushed open the door to their compartment. "They're looking for people who can follow orders and who can keep up with the physical stuff." Brittany's doubt must have showed, because Santana sighed exasperatedly. "You can do it, okay? You survived over two years of Coach Sylvester. You think the Colonial Fleet's got anything that can make her look scary?"

Brittany laughed, and Santana closed the door. She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around Brittany's waist, and Brittany had been right- this _was_ the best day since the attacks happened. It felt good to be kissing Santana again.

It felt good to fall down on the nest of blankets that Brittany had essentially made as a bed, to have Santana beside her and running one hand through her hair and the other hand up her side. Brittany just closed her eyes and gave herself over. It was fantastic, and while they were together like this, Brittany felt whole and alive.

Afterwards, they lay naked and sweaty on the blankets, close together and hands still wandering over bare skin. "If this is your way to convince me to come over to _Galactica_, I might do it," Brittany murmured.

Santana froze. "Forget it," she said. "It was a stupid idea, you going."

"What?" Brittany asked, propping herself up on her elbow. "I thought-"

"It's the _military_, Brittany," Santana said. She sat up and reached for her bra. "Look, I've told you over and over, I'm not ready to come out. I can't take it."

"You heard what Puck told Kurt," Brittany said. "It's not Gemenon. The other Colonies don't have a problem with it."

"Yeah, well, I find that pretty hard to believe," Santana said. "People like treating other people like shit, and they'll find any reason to do it." She shrugged. "That's what I do, anyway."

"You could stay here," Brittany suggested, a lump forming in her throat. Santana didn't want her there, because of what people might say. Even now, that still mattered. Although there was something else in the way Santana's hand brushed over Brittany's arm as she reached for her shirt… something more. Something protective. "Stay with me," Brittany begged.

"And let the toasters win? Please. Puck's right about that." Santana pulled her shirt on. "Come on. I need a shower, and Mike and Tina are going to be banging the door down soon anyway if we don't let them in here."

Brittany sighed and moved to get her own clothing. Silly her for thinking the end of the world would change Santana's mind.

***

When Brittany looked out the windows of the _Cybele_, she could see the _Galactica_, looking like a huge whale among a school of smaller fish. She'd liked to look at the _Galactica_, because even as battered and old as it looked, it was fierce. It had teeth. It was kind of like New Directions in a way- once the bottom of the heap and now something special and amazing.

She wondered how she'd feel when she looked at it when Santana was over there. Would it be even more special because of her, or would it be terrible and rust-tainted for breaking them apart? For breaking them all apart, because Puck was going, too?

Brittany honestly didn't know what the answer was going to be.

***

It had taken several weeks, but the compartment the kids of New Directions had claimed was finally cleared of crates. Brittany had wondered why it had taken so long, but apparently the crates had to have someplace to _go_, first. It took a few more days to get approval, but eventually Mr. Hummel had been able to build a frame of sorts to make bunk beds. Now he had finally gotten his hands on some crates and torn them apart to actually make the bed part, and had informed Sam and Finn that they were helping. Brittany had come along too, because it _was_ her bed, and some part of her felt like she should have something to do with the process. Besides, she liked Mr. Hummel.

"Okay, Brit. Hand me the five-sixteenths crescent, will you?" Burt said.

Brittany studied the tools spread out before her. "This one?" she asked, handing Burt the wrench.

"That's it," he said, and Brittany smiled up at him. He was standing on a ladder, tightening bolts as Finn and Sam struggled to hold a heavy piece of wood up above their heads.

"Hurry it up, Mr. H.," Sam gasped. "This is heavy."

"I'm moving." He did, too. Brittany couldn't help but be a little bit fascinated at how quickly he used the wrench. "There. Let it go," he ordered. Finn and Sam both dropped their arms with simultaneous groans, and Burt leaned on the board. It didn't move. He climbed down the ladder so he was back on the floor. "Who wants to test it?"

"Not it," the guys both said in unison.

"I will," Brittany volunteered. She climbed up the ladder and half-jumped over onto the platform. It creaked a little, but it supported her weight. Burt made a few noises that sounded very satisfied.

"Great," he said happily. "Finally. Something is going right for a change." Brittany caught his eye and they smiled at each other. He could look really scary, but when he smiled he looked sort of like a teddy bear.

Sam leaned back against the wall and wiped his forehead on his shirt. "And we only have how many more of these to do, Mr. H.?"

"Fourteen," Burt sighed. "But the next two we do will be easier. They won't be up so high. And we've got the framework in."

"I thought there were sixteen of us," Brittany said, surprised.

Burt looked up at her. "There are."

Finn frowned. "I don't think we need all fifteen," he said slowly. "You know Puck's going over to the _Galactica_."

"Santana, too," Brittany said.

"Frak, you're right."

"You… might want to wait a while," Finn said tentatively. "See who else is going."

Burt looked at him sharply. "Who else is thinking about going?" Finn didn't answer. "Finn?"

Finn looked down, his hands shoved in his pockets. "I didn't say I wasn't going to," he muttered.

"Yeah, but I did," Burt jumped in. "You're crazy if you think you're going. Your mother will kill you."

"For fighting Cylons?" Finn asked.

"For going into the service. If you don't think that's gonna bring back a world of memories and issues for your mom, you've got a lot less sense than I thought you did," Burt said firmly.

Sam looked up at Brittany, his eyes wide. Brittany was happy she was up out of firing range. She was pretty sure Mr. Hummel could shoot laser beams with his eyes.

"You're not really thinking about this, are you, Finn?" Burt pressed.

"Well," Finn looked to Sam and then Brittany for support. Sam shrugged. "Yeah, a bit," Finn finally said.

"If you really want to argue this out, we'll do it later," Burt said, tipping his head at Sam and jerking a thumb back at Brittany.

Finn turned to Sam. "Come on, man. Help me out. You're going, right?"

"Um-"

"See?" Burt cut in before Sam could fully answer. "Look, Finn. I get it, okay? You're mad and you want to get in there, and I don't blame you. A part of me wants to do that, too. But you are just a kid and we are a _family_, and if you go over to that ship, you know that your mother isn't going to handle it well. She already lost your dad to war. She doesn't want to lose her son as well."

Finn looked away.

"Now come on," Burt said, pointing to the stack of boards. "We've got thirteen more beds to finish."

Thirteen. It was less work, but Brittany liked it better when it had been fifteen.

***

Brittany was glad when Burt told them it was time for lunch. They'd put up four more bunks, and her arms were sore and the boring sameness of the room was driving her nuts. She wondered if there was any paint… anything that could liven up the stark gray walls and the gray pipes that made the framework for the beds. She was engrossed in the idea of the idea of glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling when they made it to the cabin. They got their food and sat down with the majority of New Directions.

"Okay," Puck said, thunking his plate down next to Brittany. "_Galactica_." Brittany winced at the word. "The training starts in a few days. Who else is in?" When no one answered right away, he looked around the table. "Finn?"

Finn sighed. "I'm game, man. But I've got parents to convince."

Puck turned on Kurt. "Well, if the two of you-"

"I'm not going," Kurt said.

Although no one else besides Santana had said they were going, Brittany realized no one had said they _weren't_ going yet, either, and everyone stared at Kurt like he'd grown two heads.

Puck's gaze darkened. "You'd better have one hell of a reason, Hummel."

Kurt shrugged and buttered his roll primly. "Honestly, Noah, I don't have to justify myself to _you_. But since you insist on asking, can you honestly see _me_ in the military?"

"I told you," Puck said through clenched teeth, lowering his voice and looking around at the tables, "that gay shit isn't going to be a problem. Adama is Caprican and the other Colonies don't care-"

"That's not what I meant," Kurt cut him off. "It's simply a matter of suitability. The military is a conformist environment where you need to be able to follow orders without questioning. I am a drill sergeant's worst nightmare."

Brittany laughed because Kurt was _right_, but she was the only one who did.

"Frak that!" Puck said. "So you have to give up your goofy outfits and shoot when they tell you to! You frakking lost _Blaine_-"

"Leave Blaine out of this," Kurt ordered, his voice like ice. But Brittany noticed that Kurt was fingering the soma bracelet around his wrist. She had noticed it before and just assumed it was another Kurt-like accessory, like the straightjacket he owned. But it wasn't, and Santana was noticing, too.

"Wait a minute," Santana said. "That's what this is about, isn't it? It's about Blaine."

"It's not-"

"It is!" Santana accused. "Blaine was a Saggy, and now that he's gone you've got some stupid notion that you need to stick to their whole non-violence shtick. Next thing you know you'll be rattling chicken bones and burning pigeon feathers instead of going to a doctor."

"First of all, I'm an atheist," Kurt said, rolling his eyes. "So Scripture's got nothing to do with it. Second of all, Blaine wasn't _that_ type of Sagittaron. His family got the hell out of there because it was such a shithole and no one would do anything about… it…" Kurt trailed off, his eyes lighting up.

"What?" Sam asked.

Kurt shook himself. "Oh, nothing," he said in that light voice that meant he was lying and was definitely up to something. After all, that was generally when Kurt was the most fun. Sam looked like he was going to press him, but was interrupted by a breathless Rachel coming into the cabin from the control room. She looked like she had good news, and Brittany's heart sped up a little.

"I just got off the phone with Ms. Porter," Rachel said, shoving Puck aside and commanding the attention of the group. "They _loved_ it!" She looked at them all with an expression that reminded Brittany of an excited chipmunk. "It's going to be on the schedule."

"Great!" Tina said, obviously relieved at the change of subject. "When?"

"I… don't know," Rachel said, and took a deep breath. "They don't have one yet. They're still establishing a… progressive scanning cathode tube ray… something."

Artie's head hit the table. "I can't even count how many things you just said wrong," he moaned. "In fact, I'm not sure what you were even _trying_ to say."

"Me either," Rachel dismissed it cheerfully. "The point is, we're going to be on TV! It's happening! We're going to be stars in the Fleet!"

Brittany did a little fist pump. "Yay!" she said softly. This was _it_. Rachel was right- their dreams really could still happen, even now. And even better, this was something they could all do togethe. Suddenly, the cabin seemed cozy, not cramped, and Brittany looked around the table at her friends, smiling. But once again, no one else seemed to have her reaction. They were quiet.

It wasn't a unified silence. Tina looked happy, and so did Sam and Mike. Quinn was smiling like she was above it all, but that was how Quinn _always_ smiled. Brittany was pretty sure Quinn had a cat somewhere in her family. And Mercedes looked thoughtful. But Puck was glowering and Finn was frowning, and even Kurt wasn't looking at Rachel. And Santana was flat out scowling. It dulled Brittany's happiness a little, and she had the feeling that this wasn't going to be so easy.

Rachel clapped her hands together, as if the silence meant everyone agreed. "Okay," she said. "I think we need to start working on another set list. If this one is as successful, then we're going to be asked to do more. If we're really lucky, they'll ask us to do a weekly show! We could be like the Massie Marsupial Hour!"

"I love that show," Brittany agreed, nodding.

"You're kidding, right?" Puck asked Rachel.

"Well, no," Rachel said. "I know it's quite laughable and the music is ridiculously trite, but it is extremely popular. But once they have the network up, they're going to need something besides news to put on it."

"Rachel," Mercedes said, in that firm-but-gentle voice that reminded Brittany of a teacher. "We've just had all of the Colonies destroyed and the Cylons are still after us. I think that becoming stars… it's just not going to happen."

"No," Rachel said, shaking her head. "This is our chance to make all our dreams come true. This is our chance to do what we all _love_, and to be _stars_. This is what we've always wanted."

"Rachel's right," Brittany heard herself saying. Santana stared at her like she was crazy, and Brittany couldn't blame her. Brittany was agreeing with _Rachel_ of all people. It was a sure sign that the end of the world was happening. Well, that and all the bombs going off and the people being dead. But Puck immediately dismissed it.

"Screw what we've always wanted," he said. "It's not good enough anymore."

***

Brittany had been relieved when Burt had shown up to inform her, Finn, and Sam that it was time to get back to work. That relief lasted all of two bunks, when Sam managed to drag his arm along a pipe and tear it open. Burt pulled off his over shirt and wrapped it Sam's arm, but the blood soaked though quickly.

"We'd better get you to Simon," Burt said.

"I'll take him," Brittany offered. She draped an arm around Sam's shoulder and led him out of the room.

Sam was really pale as they made their way through the corridor and into the next cargo pod. Brittany was beginning to worry that he was going to pass out on her and then she'd end up dragging him by his ankles like a cave woman or something. (Which might be kind of kinky if Sam didn't have blood gushing out of his arm.) But then, Sam was kind of pale anyway. Maybe the big lips drained the blood from his face.

Simon had set up a small office. There were medical supplies lined up neatly, rows of little bottles, and a tray of instruments. The back of the office was a curtain; Brittany wondered what Simon was hiding behind it. Maybe Simon was a puppet and there was a puppeteer. But what was _really_ surprising was the fact that Quinn was sitting there.

"Are you sick?" Brittany asked her. Quinn didn't answer.

Simon went for Sam immediately. The blood had soaked all the way through Burt's shirt, and Simon peeled it off carefully. "Okay," he said, his voice calm and soothing. "This isn't bad. Take a seat. Sam, right?"

"Yeah." Sam's eyes were blurry.

Simon guided Sam to a chair and put his arm up on a table. "Quinn, get the anesthetic. This wound isn't bad: it's local, and while it's deep enough to require suturing, it's relatively small. It's still bleeding, though, so let's use the xylocaine with epinephrine." Quinn nodded and picked up a bottle and syringe.

"Wait," Sam said, snapping back to lucidity, "is _she_ going to do this?" Brittany didn't blame him. She wasn't sure she'd trust Quinn not to stick a needle all the way through her arm if she was pissed at all, either.

"She's going to do the injection and the cleaning," Simon said. "I'll do the sutures."

"But-"

"There are only so many doctors in this Fleet," Simon said, frowning. "And no way of training more, aside from on-the-job training." He moved back and let Quinn step in. "Go ahead," he ordered her.

Sam tensed, but Quinn just smiled a little. "Relax," she said. "It will be okay." Her hands were steady as she put the needle into Sam's arm. Sam winced, but he didn't die, so Brittany figured she must have done okay.

Brittany didn't really want to watch the blood and gore parts as Quinn cleaned the wound and Simon sewed it up, so she watched Quinn's face. Quinn had never, ever talked about being a doctor. But she looked interested instead of repulsed, and when Simon quizzed her as he worked, she was able to answer every question. Even Sam seemed impressed.

"Why didn't you tell us that you were becoming a doctor?" Brittany asked Quinn when Simon led Sam behind the curtain to lie down and Quinn began cleaning up.

"Because I'm not becoming a doctor," Quinn said. She gathered up the bloody gauze.

"You're working with him," Brittany insisted. "He's teaching you."

"Yes," Quinn said, with something like a huff. "But that doesn't mean I'm becoming a doctor. When we find Earth, I'll be able to do… something else."

"What else?" Brittany asked, curious. But Quinn ignored the question, focusing on her job.

"I like being around Simon," Quinn said suddenly, as she wiped down the table. "He's a living miracle." Brittany blinked at her, and Quinn sighed. "Giana," she said impatiently. "His wife. That he'd be on the _Cybele_ and she'd be on the _Galactica_ and they'd manage to find each other again in all this… it's proof that the Gods are still looking out for us."

"Then why couldn't Lauren find Puck or Blaine find Kurt?" Brittany asked.

"It doesn't work that way," Quinn scoffed, and then softened. "Not everyone is going to get a miracle. But just being around someone who did… it reminds me that it can happen. And when we find Earth… maybe life can be good again."

Oh.

Brittany wandered back through the narrow corridors. Her watch said that it was only two-thirty on Gemenon, and it was three forty-five on the _Cybele_. The image of Quinn working on Sam's arm kept coming back to her. Brittany knew that she didn't want to work with blood and guts like that, but for some reason, she felt a little jealous, and she couldn't put her finger on _why_. Maybe because Quinn was always just so _certain_, even when her life was falling apart.

She suddenly remembered Mr. Hummel probably wanted to know how Sam was. She wondered if he knew what Quinn was doing and how he'd react to that. He probably wouldn't like her working with a puppet. She was so lost in thought on how to tell him that she didn't realize that there were people shouting until she walked into their compartment.

Burt was standing on one side of the small room, Finn on the other. Puck was standing next to Finn, arms crossed and red in the face. They were all upset. Brittany had heard bickering and arguing, but this wasn't either of them. This was _fighting._ It turned her stomach even more, but she inched into the room anyway.

"Look," Burt said, obviously trying to control his temper and just as obviously failing, "I'm just saying that everything is still really raw and you guys are not in the place where you can make a rational decision! You kids don't know what war is really like, the way it fraks you up."

"Are you kidding, Mr. Hummel?" Puck shot back before Finn could answer. "These frakkers destroyed everything! Don't you _get_ that? All that's really left is to blow their metal asses out of the sky for what they did to us."

"I'm not saying that there's not a place for revenge, okay? But they've blow up a hell of a lot of people, and I don't really like the idea of you kids putting yourselves out there to be more canon fodder. This President Roslin is right about one thing- we got our asses kicked, and our only hope is to run."

"Bet you wouldn't be saying that if it was _your_ family that was dead," Puck said angrily.

"I had a dad, two sisters, and a brother back on Gemenon," Burt said. Brittany looked at him sympathetically. She'd had two sisters and a brother, too.

"But your _kid_ is still alive!" Puck insisted, but Finn pulled him back.

"Can you let me say something?" Finn demanded. "I'm the one that's got to convince him." Puck glowered but took a step back, and Finn turned back to Burt.

"You know what?" Finn said to Burt. "You're right. President Roslin is right. War's over. We lost." He spread his hands. "And if the _Galactica_ was trying to take on the Cylons- hunting them down- I wouldn't go, okay?"

"Dude, you'd really-"

"Shut up, Puck," Finn said. He turned back to Burt. "But that's not what they're doing. They're protecting people. And yeah, I've got a mom still. And a dad, and a brother. And there aren't many people that can say that anymore. But that's what makes it so important to me. I've got something left to protect. And it I can do it- if I can keep Mom and you and Kurt safe- I'm gonna go do it. My dad wasn't afraid to die to keep his family safe, and neither am I."

Normally, Brittany thought that Finn was a dork. But right now, she wanted to hug him.

Burt looked away and mopped a hand over his face. Finally, he said, "How many times did you practice that speech?"

Finn flushed. "A lot."

"Kurt help you with it?"

"Yeah. He knows I'm going, if that's what you're trying to ask."

"Is he going, too?" Burt asked. "This how I'm finding out?"

Finn shook his head. "Kurt's not going."

"He's a frakking coward," Puck began, but Finn turned on him.

"Shut up, okay? I know you think everyone should go, but they aren't all going to, so back off. And Kurt's got plans of his…." Finn trailed off and glanced at Burt. "I mean, Kurt's got his reasons."

Burt closed his eyes. "Do I even want to know?"

Finn shrugged. "You will eventually."

Burt shook his head. He suddenly looked very tired. "You get to tell your mom," he said.

Finn looked abashed. "Yeah," he said. "I know."

Burt sighed. "Guess we're down to twelve beds, then." Puck clapped Finn on the shoulder, grinning.

Finn didn't smile.

"Come on," Puck said to Finn. "We need to get your name on this list."

Finn looked back at Burt, who shrugged helplessly. "Go ahead," he said wearily. Finn opened his mouth to say something, but Burt just looked so… so angry. So sad. Finn shut his mouth, nodded, and left the room with Puck. Burt watched them go.

"Are you all right?" Brittany asked, when Burt didn't say anything.

"Yeah," he lied. He looked down at the tools in his hands, and then over about Brittany. "What about you?" he asked her. "Are you going over to the _Galactica_, too?"

Brittany shook her head. "I don't think so. Are you?"

He laughed a little. "I don't think so. I'm good with cars, but I don't know the first thing about space craft."

"They can't be that different," Brittany said.

Burt looked a little amused. "They are," he said. He sat down on one of the platforms. "Besides, there's still Carole and Kurt on this ship, and neither of them are going over." Brittany nodded and sat down on one of the beds. Burt sighed and sat down next to her, still playing with his wrench. "My first wife died of cancer," he told Brittany. "I spent as much time with her as I could before she died, but it still wasn't enough. When you love someone like that, when they're family, it's never enough."

Brittany nodded. She knew _exactly_ what he meant.

"One man isn't going to make that big a difference," Burt said. "Not to all of humanity. But my family… it makes a difference to me. I've still got them, and I'm not letting them go. Not yet."

"So it's okay not to want to go?" Brittany asked.

Burt looked at her and smiled grimly. "Yeah," he said. "It's more than okay." He sighed. "Come on," he said, standing up and tossing his wrench back to the toolbox. "Let's get some more of this done."

***

Burt got called to another part of the ship, and the bunks had to wait again. Brittany spent the rest of the day with Mike and Tina, who seemed to have attracted all of the kids under ten.

"It's fun, actually," Mike told her as one kid hung off his bicep and another tried to tickle him. "Overwhelming, but they're the only people that laugh these days."

"Captain Xu even gave us a compartment as a playroom," Tina said. "We're going to paint it up, and see if maybe Mr. Hummel can attach some of that scaffolding to the walls. Give the monkeys a chance to climb."

Brittany always thought she liked kids. Maybe she still did. But after spending an entire afternoon with the brood that Mike and Tina were attached to, she wondered how they could possibly put up with it. It was like dealing with the glee club at top volume while trying to do a Cheerios routine. She couldn't understand how Mike and Tina seemed so frakking _happy_ with what they were doing.

"What other choice to we have?" Tina asked. "It's better than a lot of things."

Once, she would have thought the same way. Brittany wondered what exactly had changed. Maybe because it was the end of the world, after all.

***

Even though some of the bunks were finished, Brittany stayed in her little nest on the floor. It was familiar and she'd gotten comfortable, and she didn't want to leave that little security. The others had drawn straws for who got the first bunks, but Brittany had refused. She was happy here. The dim light of a night light was near her head. The door to their compartment opened, and Carole crept in. Brittany wasn't at all surprised when Burt got up to greet her. She heard them kiss. Carole had been gone all day; Brittany had heard something about a refinery ship.

"I brought cocoa down," Carole said quietly. "Are the kids asleep?"

"I think so." That was Mr. Schuester. "They're at least quiet."

"Which says so much with teenagers," Coach Sylvester pointed out wryly. "It's when the little zit factories are quiet that you need to be worried, William."

"I would be worried, Sue, if there weren't sixteen of us in the room," Will said. "How was the _Daru Mozu_, Carole?"

Carole sighed heavily. "It's not an engine plant, that's for sure."

"Why are they putting you on a tylium refinery ship, anyway?" Brittany heard Sue ask. "I know the _Carina_ has a salvage and repair shop, wouldn't you and your acid washed coveralls be sent there instead?"

"That's what I thought," Carole said. Brittany peeked over to see Carole shrug. In the dim light, the four adults were little more than silhouettes as they sat huddled together on crates drinking cocoa. It reminded Brittany of sleeping in the back seat on long car trips, and her parents' hushed conversations in the front. It made her feel safe. "But what they're short on is people who know how to manage shift work and lines." She sighed. "They're trying to work a third shift in. The schedule is crazy."

"Are they bringing in more workers?" Burt asked.

"Yeah." Carole sipped her drink. "Sam says he wants to come over," she said finally.

"Over?"

Carole shrugged. "I'm going to be on 16-8 schedules," she explained. "Four days on, three days off. They need line workers, and Sam said-"

"I don't like the idea," Will broke in. "Sam could be more than a factory worker."

"And what," Carole said stiffly, "is wrong with being a factory worker?"

"There's nothing _wrong_ with it," Will backtracked. "It's just…"

"Would you like a shovel, William?" Sue asked. "Or should I just give it to Carole so she can hit you over the head with it?"

"I-"

"No, I do know what you mean," Carole relented. "You think I didn't want more for Finn?" She sounded bitter. "But when it comes down to it, it's not going to be our decision what these kids do."

"Not our decision, but our responsibility to help them," Burt said. "There are gonna be a lot of people willing to take advantage of these kids because they're young and they're stupid when it comes to the world. We've got to look out for them."

There was more said- a lot more. A lot of talk about protection and children and how young they all were and how they weren't kids any more. She heard Sue's gravel, and Carole's warm tones, and Mr. Schuester's familiar voice. They all helped, but it was Burt's voice that soothed Brittany the most and lulled her back to sleep.

***

Over the next two days, they got all twelve bunks together. (When she saw it, Brittany finally figured out that the reason it was twelve and not thirteen was that Burt and Carole planned on sharing the large bottom one. Of course. She wondered why they didn't offer that set up to Mike and Tina, too. It would have been less work.) The wooden platforms on the walls and the pipe frames made their room look like a storeroom.

She lay on her top wooden bunk that night, staring up at the ceiling. Puck, Santana, and Finn were all going over to the _Galactica_. Quinn was working with Simon. Kurt had some plan that no one knew. Brittany wondered what else people were going to do.

She liked the idea of them all performing. It was comfortable. It was familiar. But if Puck and Santana and Finn and Quinn and Kurt all had their own plans, would it split them up? Just a few weeks ago, Finn had said it would be to the end. That they'd be family.

Brittany liked the idea of family.

She turned over, wrapping her arms around her pillow. She couldn't think of her real family, the ones that she had left back on Gemenon. It had been over three weeks and she still wanted to cry every time she did. She'd wonder why it wasn't getting better, but the truth was she didn't _want_ it to get better. She didn't want to think about them being dead, and not even buried properly. She hoped the gods would understand why she hadn't put the coins on their eyes and burned the sacrifices, and would take them to Elysium anyway.

At least she still had Santana. In secret and behind closed doors, but she still had her. She was still alive. For now.

She didn't want to go to _Galactica_. The idea of picking up a gun and shooting it… something about that _bothered_ her, even if those Cylons were really toasters. (Although she'd seen their pictures published in the paper and posted on the wall, and she had no idea where you were supposed to put the bread in- they looked so _human_. But even the mechanical ones didn't seem to have the little slots.) Deep down, she knew she wasn't going to go, even though Santana was.

Brittany had her new bed, but she didn't sleep well at all that night.

***

Her watch said 3:14 when she heard Burt say, "I wish you didn't have to go." His voice was low and soft.

"I wish I didn't have to, too," Carole said. "Will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine. It's just… who knows how much time… no. I'll be fine. I'll miss you, but I'll be fine."

"And I'll be back," Carole said, her voice shifting lower. "We'll be okay."

She heard them kiss. They had no idea anyone was awake. Brittany decided to be polite and buried her head under the covers.

She heard an alarm go off at what must have been 5:30. Not a loud one, just the beeping of a wristwatch. Brittany peered down and saw Artie pulling himself out of his bed and into his wheelchair.

"What are you doing up?" she hissed down at him, looking over the edge of her bunk.

Artie looked up. "Did I wake you up?"

"I couldn't sleep," Brittany admitted.

Artie looked sympathetic. "I know," he said. "I couldn't the night before. I think I slept last night because I had to." He wheeled over a little. "Come down and have breakfast with me?"

Brittany nodded and scrambled down the ladder. She rifled through her bag and came up with a clean shirt and pants and changed into them. She didn't bother to turn away from Artie; he'd seen her naked plenty of times before. But she did notice he looked away. It was sweet. Brittany had always liked that about him.

They made their way through the corridors, but when they got to the ladder leading up to the cabin, Brittany froze. "How are you going to get up there?" she asked.

Artie grinned. "You haven't seen this yet?" he asked. "Check it out." There was a small platform like a swing tied back next to the ladder. Brittany hadn't noticed it before. "Giana and Burt made it for me," Artie said as he freed the swing. He moved himself out of the chair and onto the seat of the swing, and then nudged his chair over to a corner. "It's a pulley system. Watch."

There was another rope, a really thick one. Artie began pulling on it, and the swing he was sitting on rose up. Brittany's mouth fell open. "Artie!" she called as he rose up. "That's amazing!" His laugh was her answer. Brittany climbed up the ladder after him. When she got to the top, he was in another chair.

"I know, right?" he asked as they made their way to cabin. "It's great. I don't have to have anyone carry me up and down the ladder anymore, and I should get some great guns." He flexed.

They got their food and sat down. It was kind of nice to eat here without all the others from New Directions, but then Brittany realized New Directions only had a few more meals where they'd all be together. She frowned.

"What are you doing up so early?" she asked Artie. "You're not going over to _Galactica_ too, are you?"

"Me?" Artie snorted. "No. Although Puck did try to convince me that the Fleet would take me. I don't think he was really thinking about all the implications, though. Just about shooting Cylons."

"So what are you doing instead?"

"We're getting a shipment of televisions in today off one of the freighters," Artie said happily. "I'm supposed to help hook them up in a few rooms. Turns out there aren't many people on board who can do the wiring without electrocuting themselves."

He looked so incredibly proud of himself that Brittany couldn't help but smile. "That's great," she said, and she meant it. But it also pinged something inside her. "You know," she said, a little sadly, "Puck never even got mad at me for not going. Actually, he's never even _asked_ me if I'm going."

"Do you want to go?" Artie asked. Brittany shook her head. "Well, then. Why worry about what Puck's saying? Just enjoy not having him growl at you." He shrugged.

Artie had a point, and Brittany knew it. But at the same time, she thought she might, too. But she couldn't articulate it, and so she dropped the subject. Artie did, too, and they sat talking about other things as other people filtered in, bleary-eyed and quiet. Artie was trying to explain how the wireless and television signals went through the Fleet and Brittany was completely lost when Rachel barged up to them.

"Have either of you seen Kurt?" she demanded.

"Kurt? No, why?" Artie asked.

"He's not in his bed, and I've been looking for him," Rachel said. "I have something I need to do, and Kurt is the best person to come with me."

"What are you doing?" Brittany asked.

Rachel bit her lip and looked around the cabin, which was stupid because no one was listening to them. But she leaned in and lowered her voice. "I have a meeting over on _Cloud 9_ with some people who have seen our segment," she said. "They're in charge of the broadcasting when it starts."

"Why isn't Mr. Schuester handling it?" Artie wanted to know.

"Because they didn't call us, I called them," Rachel hissed. Like she'd get in trouble for it. She looked at her watch. "I really wanted Kurt to come with me."

"I'll come with you," Brittany offered.

Rachel stared at her like she'd grown two heads. Which was ridiculous, because it was _Cloud 9_, and Brittany had only gotten to see the hallways and the room they'd filmed in last time. Finally, Rachel sighed.

"All right, but if we find Kurt, he's coming with me, not you. Let's go."

***

_Cloud 9_ was an amazing ship, and this time, Brittany got to actually see a bit of it. They had to come over when the shuttle brought them, and as a result were three hours early for Rachel's meeting. Which meant, Brittany discovered, three hours of listening to Rachel Berry tell her what to say (or, more accurately, what _not_ to say). But Brittany tuned her out and headed for the part she most wanted to see- what was under that glowing dome that you could see from outside.

The answer, she found out, was a garden.

She and Rachel stood on the edge, blinking in the light that felt like sunlight and looking at the real grass and the real flowers and a sky that wasn't real but sure looked it. Even Rachel stopped talking for a minute, her mouth hanging open in delight. "It's beautiful," she whispered. Brittany closed her eyes and inhaled. The smell of grass and flowers was _amazing_ after almost a month on a small ship with recycled air.

Here and there, people were moving around. Gardeners taking care of the plants, people getting ready for the day. She could smell cut grass, and was suddenly reminded of playing in the backyard with her sisters and brother, running through sprinklers and swinging on the jungle gym. She used to hang by her knees off the monkey bars, and she remembered how hot the slide got under the summer sun. The four of them used to set the sprinkler right by the jungle gym so they could make the slide into a water slide. The memory was so vivid and so close that she couldn't breathe.

"Are you okay?" Rachel noticed, when Brittany didn't agree to whatever it was she was saying.

"Yeah," Brittany lied. "I'm fine."

She managed to pull herself together, but the memories of her family kept coming at her. She saw a purple flower and remembered picking it for her mother, she smelled the sharp spicy scent of the woodchips and remembered her brother throwing them at her, and when she took off her shoes and put her feet on the grass, her father was right beside her again, holding her hand. It _hurt_, but for the first time, Brittany felt like they were really close to her again, right there and loving her. She didn't want to let them go.

They walked through the paths until Rachel said it was time. It was _hard_ to leave that garden, but Brittany didn't realize how hard until they were out of the fake sunshine and into the walls. _Cloud 9_'s walls weren't like the _Cybele_'s, all dingy and gray, but they still made Brittany feel trapped.

Rachel led them through a maze of hallways, giving Brittany the impression she was lost and didn't want to admit she didn't know where she was going. But eventually Rachel knocked on a door, and a voice from inside called, "Come in."

"Mr. Ishinhall?" Rachel said, clasping her hands behind her back. "I'm Rachel Berry. From New Directions."

Mr. Ishinhall smiled and stood up. He was a tall, thin man in short sleeves with dark hair that was gray at the temples, large eyes, and white teeth flashing against light brown skin. He was sitting at a table a heavy-set man with darker skin and heavily-lidded eyes. That man's eyes skipped over Rachel and landed on Brittany, and one eyebrow quirked up in interest. But Brittany had been given very strict instructions by Rachel to pay attention and keep her mouth shut, so she turned her attention back to Mr. Ishinhall. To her surprise, she found that she was actually nervous. She hadn't realized how much she wanted this to work.

"Right. New Directions. This is the group I was telling you about, Phelan."

"The Gemenese kids?" Phelan didn't seem all that interested.

"Yeah. So," he turned back to Rachel, "did you talk to your group?"

Rachel quailed a little. "I tried," she began. "There's a little- but hardly insurmountable- problem. A few of them are going over to the _Galactica_."

"Hmmm."

"But we can get them to come over, can't we?" Rachel said hurriedly. "We can get them out of training long enough to-"

"You don't know much about the military, do you?" Phelan drawled contemptuously.

Rachel flushed. "Well, no, but…"

"Which ones are going?" Mr. Ishinhall said, and Brittany thought he sounded kind. Like maybe it could work if the right ones were staying.

Rachel obviously came to the same conclusion. "Puck- he has the mohawk- and Santana. She has the long dark hair." She looked so anxious for approval, but at the same time, she stopped one name too early.

"And Finn," Brittany said, when Rachel didn't name him. Rachel turned around and glared at her, but Brittany shrugged. What was the point of hiding it? He was going to find out anyway.

"Finn's the tall one with the great voice who sang lead, right?" Mr. Ishinhall looked at his notes. "And Puck plays the guitar."

"Yes. But so does Sam," Rachel quickly added.

Mr. Ishinhall shook his head. "Look, Rachel, I'll lay it on the line. I think we could get away with losing one or two of them. But the big appeal I saw from the tape was the entire group. The individual numbers were nice, but what's really going to pull an audience in is the group numbers. And if you're missing a quarter of your group, you're missing too much. I'm sorry." Brittany's stomach twisted, and she tried to make herself say something. Fortunately, Rachel beat her to it.

"You're sorry?" Rachel asked, horrified. "You mean… please, Mr. Ishinhall. We can make this work. If they knew- I can convince them, I can-"

"If you can get them, I'm willing to see what we can do for an hour-long show each week, to start." Mr. Ishinhall shrugged. "But that's the best I can do. At least right now."

Rachel swallowed hard. "What about… what about other opportunities?" she asked. "Wireless? Or solo work? Or… or newscasts! You want to start distributing news, you must need newscasters!"

"You're a singer," he said, amused.

Rachel became even more earnest. "I'm not just a singer, Mr. Ishinhall. I'm an actress, too. I can effectively convey one hundred and forty-seven different emotions, I can cry on demand, and my enunciation is impeccable. I don't get stage fright, and I'm always ready to report, no matter what the hour."

Brittany's eyes widened. But then, she realized, it shouldn't be a surprise. Rachel wanted to be a star, and she was going to be if the rest of New Directions was with her or not. "I have some journalism experience," she said, because really, it was a good idea, even if _Rachel Berry_ thought of it.

Mr. Ishinhall raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"She had a gossip talk show on one of the v-world channels," Rachel said dismissively.

"And I wrote for the paper," Brittany said.

"The _high school_ paper called the _Muckraker_," Rachel added. Her smile became more determined and fake. "Mr. Ishinhall, from what I heard there are only two legitimate journalists left in existence, and they wrote for second-rate publications. You're going to have to train up anyone that you have reporting news and interviewing the people of influence in the Fleet, so why not start with someone who is aware they need training and has the earnest look that you need for someone reporting fluff pieces that will up the Fleet's morale?"

Mr. Ishinhall looked at his watch and sighed. "All right," he said. "We'll do a quick read-through." Rachel squealed and bounced on her toes. He snapped his fingers, "Brianna?"

"Brittany," Brittany corrected.

"Why don't you go first?"

That shocked both her and Rachel.

Brittany followed Mr. Ishinhall out of the office and two doors down, stunned. "I didn't know I was going to-"

"Well, that's part of news," Mr. Ishinhall explained. "I was in advertising, but you hear things."

Brittany nodded.

He took her into a small room and pointed to a desk. "I'm not going to give you a script," he told her. "I want you to report on something- something you've seen in the Fleet. I want to see how you do on the fly."

Brittany sat down awkwardly at the desk. She felt confined behind there, like she was trapped. She shifted awkwardly in the chair. It didn't look anything like the chairs and desks she remembered seeing on news shows in Lima. The desk was a table, and the chair was a folding metal chair. The metal was cold through the fabric of her pants.

"What should I talk about?" It was a lot easier to interview people.

"Tell me about something."

Brittany cleared her throat. "I'm Brittany S. Pierce," she said, "coming to you from the _Cybele._ Or _Cloud 9_, I guess. It's been a month since the Cylon attack. The _Galactica_ or the Colonial Fleet or Commander Adama or someone has just asked for new volunteers for the military. And they're getting at least three.

"I know Puck is going to kick ass in the military, because Puck is a bad-ass. He'll be great with a gun. And Finn will do okay, too, because it's other people telling him what to do and he doesn't have to make decisions. And I know Santana will win the war single-handedly and everything… but I don't want her to go. Not because I'm afraid she'll die, because she won't, but because I don't know what I'll do without her. It's bad enough that Charity and Lord Tubbington are gone, and if you leave me alone with Rachel, I'm pretty sure I will go insane. I might even start dressing like her."

She realized that she'd gotten off topic and snapped her mouth shut. She looked at Mr. Ishinhall, who sighed.

"Very emotional and moving," he said. "But not quite what we're looking for." He was gentle as he said it, but Brittany understood. _You're not smart enough for this job._

Well, she hadn't really wanted this job anyway. She'd just tried for it because she felt at home on camera and because Rachel was being annoying.

She shrugged. "Your loss."

He smiled. "It is."

She traded places with Rachel, and sat in the quiet office with Phelan. For a moment, she just enjoyed the silence- the first she'd had since Rachel had interrupted her and Artie at breakfast. Then she noticed Phelan watching her.

"Are you looking for a job?" he asked.

Brittany blinked. "I guess. Something to do, anyway."

He grunted. "I saw the show," he said, gesturing vaguely at Mr. Ishinhall's desk. "I saw you dance. You were good."

"Thank you."

"You're also a very beautiful girl."

"Thank you."

Phelan rubbed his hand over his chin. "If you want a job," he said, "I can give you a job. You could earn a lot of cubits at once, for very little work." He leaned forward. "Have you ever had sex?"

"Of course," Brittany scoffed, and then frowned. "Although not with anyone as old as you."

Phelan's grin widened. "It wouldn't be with me," he said. "But I could set you up with people. Lots of people, from the looks of you. They'd pay you, and you could pay me a small… finder's fee." He leaned forward. "You could even stay on _Cloud 9_. I haven't been over to the _Cybele_, but I'm sure it's a lot nicer here."

"It is. What about Rachel?"

Phelan snorted. "You see me hiring Rachel?"

"She has all the sex appeal of a baby unicorn." Brittany agreed. Phelan made a face, but Brittany didn't notice. She was too busy thinking. "But all my friends are over on the _Cybele_," Brittany pointed out. "We're like a family."

"So much so that three of them are leaving for the military?" Phelan asked.

Ouch.

Brittany opened her mouth to respond, but they heard Rachel's excited voice coming from the hall. Phelan handed her a card. "Think about it," he said. "And when you decide, call me. But don't mention this to Ben, all right? I don't want him making you a counter offer." He winked.

Brittany smiled back.

Rachel came back in, smug and happy. Brittany might have rolled her eyes, but for the fact that someone wanted _her_ to work for them, and not Rachel. Even if they couldn't get this TV job, and even if Rachel got her reporter job, Brittany had an offer, a way to be wanted in the Fleet.

She might have a place after all.

***

Mr. Schuester, Carole, Burt, and eleven of the twelve members of New Directions were crammed into the small compartment that was serving as their room. It was better now that there were bunks, Brittany thought, and she could stretch out next to Santana as Rachel took the floor. Brittany watched her with a sort of resignation. She hoped Rachel could convince everyone, but she probably wouldn't be able to. No one ever really listened to Rachel without someone backing her up. And although Brittany intended to try, she had the feeling that no one ever listened to her about anything serious, either.

"Think about it," Rachel gushed breathlessly. "Our own show. An hour a week, guaranteed! This is our chance! It's really happening! We really made it!"

"I can't believe it," Tina said, squeezing Mike's hand. His grin was just as wide as hers. "We're really going to do this!"

"I'm not," Puck said, arms crossed as he leaned against a ladder. "Look, Rachel. Singing and dancing? It doesn't _do_ anything."

"Yes it does!" Rachel shot back. "It's… it's _culture!_ Fighting the Cylons is great, Noah, and I really respect what you want to do, but this has always been my dream, and I finally have a chance to accomplish it! I am not letting _anything_- Cylons, nuclear holocaust, or any of _you_ keep me from getting to the top!"

"The top of what?" a voice from the doorway said.

Rachel spun. "Kurt!" she practically shouted. "Where have you been?"

Kurt, looking as smug as Lord Tubbington always did after Brittany let him lick the empty ice cream cartons, sauntered into the room. He was dressed up, Brittany realized, actually wearing a _skirt_, tights, and his (admittedly incredibly awesome) knee-high boots, along with a gray shirt that looked like it had seatbelts sewn to the front. It was a combination he'd worn before, and Brittany had to admit one of the most annoying parts of the end of the worlds was listening to Kurt complain about having to wear the same outfit more than once.

"Where have you been?" Burt echoed Rachel.

Kurt arched his eyebrows. "I had an interview," he said. "And I got a job."

"A job," Burt said cautiously. "Do I even want to know?"

Kurt sat down, legs crossed and holding on to one knee, trying to look casually superior. "Starting tomorrow, I am the personal aide of Mr. Tom Zarek."

Finn smiled. "Awesome, man!" he said holding up a hand for Kurt to high-five. "Told you he'd go for it."

"Wait. Tom Zarek?" Burt asked. "Like, over on the _Astral Queen_ Tom Zarek?"

"That's the dinner plate ship, right?" Brittany asked Santana quietly. Santana nodded, her dark brows knit together as she listened.

"I think Kurt's going to get to blow up something before you guys are," Sam said darkly.

"_No_," Burt said. "You are not going on a ship of a thousand convicts every day! Are you insane?"

"I am not insane," Kurt said, all offended, "and I will not be blowing anything up. If you haven't been following the Fleet's sorry excuse for news, Mr. Zarek is almost definitely going to be chosen as the Sagittaron representative to the Quorum of Twelve."

"It doesn't matter what he's going to be," Quinn said, "it really matters what he's been. He blew up government buildings, Kurt! He's a _terrorist_!"

"So people can't change, Lucy Caboosey?"

"There is a huge difference between changing and reforming," Quinn said icily. "Besides, he refused to even apologize. He hasn't shown any remorse over what he's done. He hasn't changed at all."

"I'm well aware of the history," Kurt said. "Believe me, I listened to Blaine for several hours on the subject. And he told the story quite a bit differently than you do. According to him, Zarek is one of the only people to rise up and fight for the rights of the Sagittarons. And, as backwards as I consider most- if not all- of the general beliefs on that godsforsaken rock, I certainly understand the plight of those oppressed by society for not fitting into what is considered the norm. Which is exactly what I told him."

"Oh, you did not tell him that you understand how it feels to be Sagittaron just because you're gay," Mercedes moaned, cradling her forehead in her hand.

"No," Kurt said primly, "I told him I appreciate that he fought for people whom the government would otherwise ignore, and may have let it drop that a certain Gemenese candidate refused to even consider me as an aide because of my sexuality." He smoothed his skirt down over his knee. "I added in the fact that my boyfriend taught me Sagittaron-"

"Blaine was _ten_ when they moved to Gemenon," Mercedes pointed out. "And he was glad they did!"

"He still knew the language," Kurt said. "And he was glad because they had _rights_ on Gemenon, which is more than Caprica ever gave Sagittaron."

"We're getting off the point," Rachel said, completely frustrated. "The show! We need to make a decision! This is our opportunity, and we may never get another one! This is our chance to be stars!"

"Stars of _what_?" Kurt asked. "Fifty thousand people?" Rachel gaped, and Brittany couldn't blame her. Because if there was anyone she thought would be all for this, it was Kurt. And looking at his face, Brittany knew that he wasn't.

"But you've always wanted…" Rachel trailed off.

"I kind of thought you'd be remodeling clothes," Mike put in. "You've probably got a chance to be _the_ fashion designer of the Fleet."

Kurt looked at Finn for support, who gave him a grim smile in return. "Look," he said to the group, and it was the most sincere Brittany had ever heard Kurt sound, "I love music. I love fashion. But they don't _matter_ right now. They're…." He looked like the words he wanted to say physically hurt him.

"They're still important," Rachel said, before Kurt could force himself to say it. "I can't believe that they're not."

Kurt looked genuinely pained. "There are other things I need to do right now. I… I can help. I can't go onto that ship," he said, gesturing vaguely in the direction that _Galactica_ was. "I can't swear to follow orders. It's just… I can't. But I can do something. Something _important_. Something that makes a difference. And that's really what I've always wanted- to make a difference."

"But…" Rachel tried, but she was wilting, too. Without Kurt, they could forget convincing Finn, and then Puck, and looking next to her, Brittany realized Santana wasn't going to be swayed, either.

"Rach," Finn said gently. "I'm sorry. But I'm with Kurt. Look, a show- that's gonna take a lot of time. There's choreography and there are costumes and there are songs for each week…."

"But what's wrong with that?" Rachel asked. "We've spent so long on this ship doing _nothing_."

"Not all of us," Quinn said.

Finn nodded. "There are places for us, more than just singing and dancing. And I'm sorry, but mine is over on _Galactica_, protecting everything I've got left."

Next to Brittany, Santana's breath stopped. Brittany fumbled for her hand, and Santana squeezed it tight before detangling her fingers and moving away a little.

"We could take a vote," Tina suggested.

"A vote doesn't matter," Puck said. "I'm going to _Galactica_ no matter what everyone else decides."

"Same here," Santana said, and Brittany bowed her head.

"I'm sorry, Rachel," Finn said. "But the show isn't going to happen. Not like this."

Rachel looked around the room, tears in her eyes. Brittany wanted to hug her, because she felt the same way. They were supposed to be a family. But Finn and Puck and Santana were joining the Fleet, Kurt and Sam had jobs on other ships, and Quinn spent all her time with Simon and Artie with the radios. They weren't a family anymore, not like this.

Brittany decided she was going to take up that job offer of her own.

***

The only thing was, she wasn't sure how to make the call. Her cell phone still didn't have a signal, although Artie said that they were going to be working on that, so ship-to-ship communication would be easier. She thought about asking Artie anyway, because maybe he could get her some time on the radio, but she had a suspicion asking Artie would be more complicated than that. She looked at the card Phelan had given her again. He was over on a ship called the _Prometheus_.

That didn't make any sense. He said if she worked for him, she'd work on _Cloud 9_.

Either way, Brittany studied the posted shuttle schedule right inside the docking bay. There was one last shuttle tonight, although she'd be stuck over there for the night. Which, if she was really going to start working by having sex, would make sense, right? Lots of people liked sex at nighttime.

Of course, the stars were always out and it was always dark outside, so maybe people were wanting sex all the time? It was almost as bad as eggs for dinner.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Brittany turned around. Coach Sylvester was watching her, one hand on her hip and her _sloppy babies_ expression on her face.

"I have an interview," she told her.

"An interview."

Brittany shrugged. "Like Rachel. And Sam. And Kurt. They all have jobs off the ship."

"Right. We'll ignore the fact that Baxter Sarno doesn't actually _have_ a job yet, Fishlips got shanghaied by Mama Willow instead of someone seeking him out, and Porcelain sauntered onto a ship of sexually deprived convicts in a kilt and bondage gear and risked a thousand and one prison jokes. Where the hell do _you_ have an interview?" Brittany didn't answer, but she didn't need to. Sue snatched the card from her hand. As she read it, her face paled a little bit. "What the hell are you thinking?"

Brittany shrugged. "It's a job. Everybody's got to do something."

Sue's glare was even. "Do you have any idea what sort of job this is?"

"Sure. It's sex. I'm good at sex."

That hit Sue, and Brittany could see it. Coach Sylvester hadn't expected her to know what the job was really for. Well, Brittany wasn't _stupid_. She knew. She just didn't see anything wrong with it, that was all. "It's even legal," Brittany pointed out.

Sue opened her mouth and then shut it again. Then she grabbed Brittany by the upper arm and pulled her out of the docking bay and into the corridor outside. "I should tell Schuester about this," she said, her voice low and taut and angry, "but he'd just frak it up when he tried to explain to you why it isn't a good idea to do this. So as it is, I'm gonna do the honors. I've met this Phelan and this?" She held up the card between two fingers. "This isn't prostitution. This is sexual slavery.

"You probably think that if you go over there, you'll get this sweet little job where all you have to do is lie on your back and let some decent looking guys and some reasonable looking girls frak you. And sure, that'll happen some. But you don't get to choose who. So when the four hundred pound loser with no concept of hygeine comes knocking, or that eighty old grandma with dentures, you've got no choice. If they've got the money, you're going to do it them. Because this Phelan? He'll _make_ you do it. He'll beat you and threaten you and if you don't do it, he'll frakking kill you. Is that the kind of job you want?"

Brittany shook her head.

"And just to drive the point home further, I'm sure there's got to be something that you don't want to do. Not just a person, but some sex act that you don't wan to do. And you're going to have to do it. You take this job and I swear to you that you'll be dead or wishing you were inside two months."

That sounded horrible. "But back on Gemenon-" Brittany began.

"Wake up, Aspasia. This isn't Gemenon anymore. And just because the entire Fleet's already been through hell doesn't mean that they're all pure and kind and good. You fall for this and you're going to get screwed. And I mean that literally _and_ figuratively. Get your head out of the clouds, stop trusting people so much, and grow up, you got it?" Brittany nodded. "Good," Sue said. "There's no one around to take care of you anymore, you got that? You need to take care of yourself." She threw the card back at Brittany. "Make the right decision, but if I hear you're over on the _Prometheus_, I'll drag you back myself." With that, she spun away and left.

Brittany stared at the card mournfully. It wasn't that someone like Phelan existed or offered her a job that bothered her, it was that she really thought she'd had a place, and the truth was she didn't. She had nothing.

She tore the card up and threw it away.

***

She ran into Burt by accident, when she decided to go down to an unconverted part of the cargo pods just to be alone. Burt was sitting on a crate, twirling the wedding band on his finger.

"Are you all right, Mr. Hummel?" Brittany asked.

He looked up, obviously surprised to see her, and the sadness left his face. "Yeah," he said. "I'm fine." He looked closer at her. "What about you?" he asked. "Heard you went over to _Cloud 9_ with Rachel. You've got to be pretty disappointed about the show."

"I am," Brittany admitted. There was something about Burt Hummel… Coach Sylvester had said not everyone in the Fleet was kind and good, and Brittany supposed that must be true. But Mr. Hummel was the kind of man you _could_ trust. "I wish they weren't going."

"You and me both, kiddo," he said. He studied her, and then moved over on the crate. "Have a seat."

"Thanks."

"So… which one's bothering you?" he asked, like he didn't already know.

"Santana," Brittany sighed. "I just wish…" for a moment she thought about not saying anything, because Santana didn't want anyone to know, but this was _Mr. Hummel._ He'd get it. "I love her," Brittany admitted. "She loves me. But… you know what you were saying about spending the time you can with the people you have left?" He nodded. Brittany shrugged. "She won't. She's… afraid."

Burt nodded. "I get that," he said. "People… you ever get any of those calls?" Brittany stared at him in confusion, and Burt sighed and pushed his cap back. "Yeah. Those calls scare the shit out of me."

"But we're not on Gemenon anymore."

"After a lifetime of being there," Burt said. "Don't get me wrong. I get why you're upset. Believe me." He chuckled a little. "Me, I shouldn't be, either. They were both going to go to college, and they were both moving out of the house. Carole worked a lot of crazy shifts anyway. When you think about it, nothing's changed. But I still don't want them to leave this ship."

"They'll be okay," Brittany tried to reassure him.

"Yeah. But it's me that might not be." He smiled to take the sting from that, to show her he was sort of joking. He didn't need to smile. Brittany knew _exactly_ what he was feeling.

"Guess we just stay here then," she sighed, "being protected."

"Yup," he said with a nod, "guess so."

The two of them sat in silence.

***

The kids going off to the military couldn't take much, but then, they didn't have much to take. Brittany sat on Santana's bunk, watching her pack.

"I'm going to miss you," she told her.

Santana didn't look at her. "I know. I'm going to miss you, too. But I didn't say that." She folded a bra. "You're not going over to Phelan, are you?"

"No."

"Good. Because I'd have a gun, but I'm pretty sure I'd get discharged for killing that fat pig." She put her bra in her bag.

"Santana… about other people…."

Santana's head snapped up. "What about other people?" she said. "There's always been other people, Brit. You know that."

"I know. But now, with the way things are-"

"All the more reason not to get attached." Santana finished putting her underwear in and zipped her bag. "Frak whoever you want, Brittany. I'll be doing the same. And when I get leave and come back here, it will be me and you."

Brittany wanted to argue it, but there was _that_ look in Santana's eyes, the one that meant that no matter what Brittany said, Santana wasn't changing her mind. And over the past year, Brittany had learned that pushing Santana on this particular subject only made things worse. So she nodded. "All right."

"Come on," Santana said. "Everyone's waiting."

There wasn't room down in the docking bay, so New Directions was saying goodbye to Puck, Finn, and Santana in the passenger cabin. Brittany didn't want to, but she didn't want to let her leave without saying goodbye, either. She was so lost in thought that she didn't realize that something was up until they were in the cabin. The group was really quiet, like they were stunned.

Mercedes was standing there, her chin high, clutching her bag as well.

"I don't believe this," Tina said as Brittany and Santana got closer. "You're going? _Why_?"

"Because of what Kurt and Finn said last night," Mercedes said. She turned to Rachel. "Look. You're right that we shouldn't give up on singing and dancing and all that. It's more than just an amazing dream. It's who we are. But right now, it's in danger. We're all in danger. And as much as I want that life, it just doesn't exist anymore. I thought about all those Sagittarons who don't stand up to fight, and what happens to them. And when someone _does_, he can't even make a difference because people stayed quiet for too long. I don't want to be that person, who lets the Cylons take what's mine and not fight. I'm going."

"That's my girl," Puck said proudly, slinging his arm around Mercedes' shoulder. "She's got guts, unlike the rest of you cowards."

Mercedes glared at him. "First of all, get your arm off me," she said. "I'm not your girl. And second, I'm not going because of anything you said, and you can stop guilting everyone else. I'm going because it's what _I_ want to do. Now shut up."

Finn checked his watch. "The shuttle's gonna be here soon," he said. "We'd better get this going."

"Wait," Rachel said. "We have to… there's got to be-"

Finn nodded. "One more song for the road," he said. Then there was music again, for one last time.

***

"It's not the last time we'll ever sing together," Finn said as he climbed down the ladder. "We're not going to die over there, and we'll get leave."

"_You_ might not die over there," Mercedes said. "I have a feeling I'm regretting this already."

"Not me," Puck said. "I'm ready to kick some Cylon ass."

"I can't wait to see you wet yourself the first time you face down one of those tin cans," Santana said.

Nine of them crowded into the tiny docking bay. The four military kids, with their bags. Kurt, with a satchel slung over his shoulder and an excited expression. Carole and Sam, both of them holding emptier bags for their four-days-on shift, and glummer demeanors. And Brittany and Burt, the only two who rated private good-byes.

The Raptor arrived first, and Brittany knew with a certainty that she _hated_ that Raptor as soon as the airlock hatch opened. A woman in a flight uniform climbed out, her eyes scanning over a checklist. "Hudson, Jones, Lopez, and Puckerman?" she said.

"That's us," Puck said, grinning.

She glared at him. "You will answer with 'yes, sir'," she informed him. "You have one minute to say your good-byes and get your asses on that Raptor. Any stragglers will be doing pushups from here to lunch time."

One minute. She heard Finn saying his good-byes and Carole trying not to cry, and Mercedes and Sam hugged. But all that Brittany could focus on was Santana in her arms. "Stay safe," she whispered, hugging her desperately because now it was so _real_. "Come home to me."

"I will," Santana whispered back.

"Move it, maggots!" the woman shouted. Santana pulled away, gave Brittany one more smile, and then hustled onto the Raptor. Faster than it seemed to have come, they pulled away into the airlock, and the hatch closed. Brittany could hear the engines on the other side of the door, and the other end of the airlock opening, and then… nothing. They were gone.

The little dock seemed a lot emptier now, the engines covering the echos of their voices. Burt caught her eye, and Brittany gave him a small, grim smile. His smile back looked exactly the same.

Carole wiped her cheeks, and Burt put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. Sam did the same thing to Kurt. But there wasn't a lot of time before the airlock hatch opened again and a different shuttle came in. This one was small and beat up and painted bright blue, with _Colonial Movers_ on the side. The man who looked out had shaggy bangs and a mustache. "Where y'all going?" he asked.

"_Daru Mozu_," Carole said, pointing to herself and Sam.

"_Astral Queen_," Kurt added proudly.

"Get in. Anyone else?" The man looked around the docking bay. Brittany shook her head. Burt hugged Carole and said a few quiet words to her, and Brittany waved to Sam. Burt released Carole, and then hugged Kurt.

"I'll see you tonight." Kurt told him.

"You'd better be home," Burt warned him. Kurt smiled and got on the ship.

Then that shuttle was gone, too, and Brittany and Burt were alone in the docking bay. It was oddly silent. Burt put his hands in his pockets, and Brittany shifted.

"You okay?" he asked her.

Brittany nodded. Strangely, there was a lump in her throat and she couldn't speak.

"Yeah. I feel the same way," Burt said. "Come on. I could use some help, if you haven't got anything better to do."

Brittany nodded again. "All right," she said, and her voice managed to work. Burt smiled at her and clapped her on the shoulder.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go."

***

It was quieter in the New Directions room with six people gone. (Kurt did come back at night, and in fact finally admitted that Zarek insisted on it. Whether it was to protect Kurt from a thousand sex-starved convicts or because Zarek didn't want to keep hearing about how his look needed updating and that he should wear his pants a little tighter was up for debate.) Sam and Carole at least left a lot of stuff on the _Cybele_, but the kids that had gone to the military hadn't. Brittany moved down from her bunk to Santana's. It felt she was a little closer to her that way.

They got three televisions hooked up in the ship. You had to go up to the cabin to watch, but Brittany didn't really mind. There wasn't much on, anyway.

Until one night when there was.

"It's on!" Rachel squealed, pulling them all into the cabin. "The stuff we taped! It's on!"

They crowded into the cabin, watching the screen eagerly. It was a short segment, only a half-hour, their choreography was rough, and they had tempo issues on one of the songs, but Brittany had to admit they looked good. She wondered if Santana had seen it. Rachel sighed wistfully.

"Don't press your nose to the screen," Mike said. "You'll get smudges on it." He put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back.

"We should have…" Rachel began, and then shook herself. "I know why, it just seems like such a waste."

"It is," Brittany agreed, resting her chin on her hand.

Afterwards, Kurt wouldn't let them turn the set off. There was an interview series with the Quorum representatives that had already been elected. Brittany had little interest, but she was surprised at the actual sight of Zarek. Kurt actually hadn't mentioned that Zarek was good looking- she'd kind of assumed he had a shaved head, a scar down one stubbled cheek, and a scowl. She wasn't expecting shiny, feathered hair, a well-tailored suit, sculpted features and a charming smile. (And Kurt could only be responsible for the first two.) He was talking to an elegant blonde reporter who smiled at him and the camera simultaneously.

"That's Playa Palacois," Rachel hissed as they watched the interview. "She gets all the good assignments." Rachel had been taken on as a cub reporter, but so far, she'd only been given research to do.

"Shut up," Kurt ordered her, leaning closer. Playa had already congratulated Zarek on his election, and had gone through a brief statement about his goals as the Sagittaron representative. "This is what I wanted to hear," Kurt said, although no one really cared. "She's going to ask him about the other representatives. I can't wait to hear what he has to say about Sarah Porter," he said viscously.

"You are still Gemenese, you know," Rachel reminded him.

"Yes, but-" Kurt began, but his head snapped back at Playa's voice.

"You hired a Gemenese kid as your aide, am I correct?" Playa asked. The way Kurt's eyes widened, Brittany could tell he had not expected that question. But Zarek obviously did.

"No, Playa, you're not," Zarek said, his eyes twinkling. "I hired a Colonial kid as my aide." Playa laughed, and Zarek leaned forward. "Your point, however, is actually the same one that I want to make. Yes, despite the traditional animosity between Sagittaron and Gemenon, I hired a young Gemenese man as my aide. Because if this Fleet is going to continue, if humanity is going to thrive, the lines that separate us must be questioned. It can't be about our colony of origin, about which god we worship, about our histories. It can't be about what we did on the Colonies, what our careers were, what our past was. We must look to what each person has the potential to become."

"Like how a terrorist can rise above his past to sit on the Quorum," Playa swiftly interjected.

"Or how a school teacher can gain enough power to become President of the Colonies," Zarek agreed. "One way to ensure our future is to break down the walls and erase the lines that have been formed for us throughout history. So an Aerilon voice is as important in the Quorum as a Libran one, a Sagittaron can lay aside his differences and work closely with a Gemenese, and the people must realize that the default setting does not need to be Caprican to be valid."

"He's playing with you," Burt told Kurt. "You don't have to be some sort of genius to see that you're being used."

Kurt shrugged. "I don't doubt that that's part of his motivation, but I think I'm capable of doing the job."

"Didn't say you weren't. Just… watch yourself. He's after power, you know."

Kurt looked at Burt evenly. "I know."

Brittany's eyes widened. She missed the rest of the interview because she was so busy watching the Hummels, but the truth was she didn't really care. The interview was boring.

"Hey guys?" Artie wheeled over, trying not to smile. "I just got a call. You're never going to believe from who."

"Who?" Mike asked.

"President Roslin. Well, really Billy Keikeya made the call, but it came from her." Artie looked excited. "She saw the broadcast, and she wants New Directions to perform at the Colonial Day celebration."

"We don't have all our members," Rachel muttered.

"I mentioned that," Artie said. "Billy said he'd heard, and that Roslin said she'd put in to get the others on leave for the celebration and three hours before. She really wants us to sing there."

All twelve of them, together again. It had only been a week, but it seemed like the best news Brittany had heard in a long time.

***

The hours of that week seemed extremely long. Brittany spent almost all her time helping Mr. Hummel with his projects. With materials flowing more freely around the Fleet, he had a lot of work remodeling cargo pods and installing more plumbing. On the bright side, that led to Brittany learning a few new interesting curses, because plumbing hadn't been his thing. On the not-so-bright side, she had three new burns, a cut on her left leg that had almost required stitches, and had managed to super-glue her fingers together.

But it was worth it when she saw Santana again.

"You look amazing," was the first thing Brittany said to her. Santana didn't look any different, except that she was wearing the weird double tanks that the military wore, along with dog tags and green cargo pants and heavy boots, but she looked great anyway. She grinned at the compliment and returned Brittany's hug, but there was no time to say anything else. Brittany wished they had longer than three hours.

Three hours and three songs. There was no time for catching up or exchanging stories. There was just time for choreography and rehearsing, especially since President Roslin had been specific in that she wanted group numbers. Mr. Ishinhall was right about their appeal, it seemed.

Rachel was thriving under the pressure, ordering them all around like Mr. Schuester wasn't there. Finn was laughing at her, and so was Puck, although Brittany noticed that Puck had dark circles under his eyes. Mercedes and Kurt had to be yelled at several times to pay attention and stop talking, and Sam nearly fell asleep on his feet. But somehow they got everything together.

It felt good to stand on a stage again, all of them together. It was wonderful to sing, to have all those faces watching them. Brittany hadn't realized just how much she agreed with Rachel and had wanted New Directions to stay together and _perform_ until that moment. But in three short songs it was over, and although the applause thundered in their ears, their little family was broken up as soon as they were whisked backstage.

"Get your asses in gear!" a soldier was yelling. "Playtime is over, kids, and your asses need to be back on the _Galactica_ right now!"

The last Brittany managed to see of Santana was Santana looking over her shoulder at her, mouthing something Brittany couldn't make out.

Five minutes later, Zarek had caught Kurt's arm. "I need you to circulate," Brittany heard him say. "I've been hearing rumors about Gray being upset with Roslin for nominating Baltar instead of him for the vice presidency, and I want to find out who's saying what." Kurt immediately disappeared, headed out into the political gossip whirlwind that was the Colonial Day party.

Rachel was still accepting compliments, Mike and Tina were dancing. Sam was sitting in a chair, eyes glazed, looking like he was ready to head back to the _Cybele_ and sleep for a week, and Artie and Quinn were talking to each other in low voices- Brittany caught something about the supplies on the _Cybele_. Everyone had their place, everyone had their mission. Everyone knew what they were doing, except Brittany.

Brittany stood against the backdrop of the little white lights that had been put up for decoration, feeling completely alone.

***

The morning after a party was always the worst feeling in the world, but this was worse than Brittany had ever felt. Because last night, for a moment, everything had felt right, and this morning she was just lost again. She had no idea of what she was going to do, no idea what she was _meant_ to be doing.

The compartment was quiet. Carole and Sam had left for the _Daru Mozu_ again and everyone else was at work, doing what they'd chosen. Doing what people wanted them to do. No one really wanted her to do anything.

The door opened, and Brittany looked up. Burt poked his head inside. "There you are," he said, and then frowned. "You okay?"

Brittany had never been serious about Kurt. He'd been a notch in her bedpost (sort of) and nothing more. But it occurred to her that if things had gone a little differently, she could have been this man's daughter-in-law. She shrugged. "I'm all right."

"Yeah." He stepped all the way in. "Quiet in here." She nodded. "Not sure I like it so much," he said, and then shot her a quick look. "Doesn't look like you do, either."

"Not really."

He nodded a little. "Well, then," he said, when Brittany didn't say anything. "We've got a big job today, and if we don't get moving, the people in Cargo Pod A are going to be coming down on us pretty hard."

"We?"

"Well, yeah," Burt said, tipping his cap back on his head. "You're my assistant, right?"

Their eyes met, and she saw that same feeling of being left behind and at odds with this world reflected back at her. She nodded. "Yeah," she said, standing up. "I guess I am."

"Come on, then," Burt said, putting his arm around her shoulders. "You and me, we've got work to do." He gave her a little hug and then dropped his arm and picked up his toolbox.

Brittany followed him out of the compartment, smiling.


	3. But That Was When I Ruled The World

The Gods _must_ still exist and they must have a frakking cruel sense of humor. Puck was sure of that as he climbed out of the trash pile. He'd thought people would be done this shit by the time they were adults, but apparently tossing people in dumpsters _never_ got old.

Of course, if Puck had been doing the tossing, he would have actually meant that.

The _Galactica_'s waste disposal unit stunk. Puck supposed he should be glad at least the sewage didn't get dumped in here as well. The walls were also high, so climbing out was going to be a bitch. Again. When he finally got leave, he was going to find Kurt and get down on his knees and grovel, then tell him how good he had it, because Kurt only had to climb out of a dumpster.

The only way to the top was to mound enough trash against the wall to give himself a boost. Several times he tried to scramble up, only finding that the pile wasn't nearly as stable as he thought, and he ended up flat on his stomach, his face in a pile of rotting greens or coffee grinds. Finally he managed to curl his fingers around the top of the wall and haul himself up onto the floor.

"Took you long enough. Nowart and Maldonaldo got you again, huh?"

Jaffee and Sykes, two of his fellow recruits, were sitting on the floor, watching. Sykes handed Jaffee a bag of popcorn. Jafee took a handful, crunching into it loudly.

"Frak you," Puck said. He lay on the metal grating for a moment, trying to get his breath. "What are you doing here?"

Sykes got to his feet. "Come on, Puckerman. Sarge said once you hauled your ass out of there you've still got five laps of the _Galactica_ to go." Puck groaned, took a deep breath, and when they hit the corridors, began.

The _Galactica_, Puck had discovered, was not a big ship; it was frakking _huge_. In the week he'd been on board, he'd already learned how to pace it. Gods knew he'd had to run the frakking thing enough times. Apparently, the Marines really liked running. Or at least making the new guys run. Or making the frak-ups- no. He wasn't going to think about that.

Of the near-fifty-thousand people to survive, two hundred and twelve people had responded to the call for new recruits. Puck, Mercedes, Santana, and Finn had stuck together during those first days of testing. Over here on _Galactica_, everything felt very different. Here, the threat of the Cylons wasn't something you could ever block out; it was something that you had to keep on top of your mind every second, because you had to be _ready_. And when they saw how the _Galactica_ crew functioned and the things they were doing, all four of them privately thought they were about to be tossed out on their asses.

Mercedes got pulled aside first. "They're kicking me out," she'd moaned as they pulled her from the morning run. "I know it. They're kicking me out and sending my ass back over to the _Cybele_ without even a 'thank you very much.' " But the officer who'd pulled her told her to report to the CIC for training. He'd left immediately, and Mercedes had looked at them all with wide, wild, incredulous eyes. The next time Puck saw Mercedes, she had a new pin on her BDU jacket and a thick manual tucked under her arm.

Finn, Santana, and Puck had been sitting together three days later when they were assigned to their own training. Santana had been smug when she'd been called for flight training; Finn had been a little surprised when he was as well. And Puck… Puck had been one of eight people chosen for the Marines.

There weren't many Marines left on _Galactica_. It turned out that most of them had already been off the ship before the _Galactica_'s decommissioning ceremony, and more had been killed in the first attacks. But you had to be _tough_ to be in the Marines, and Puck had known that that was where he'd belonged from the start. After all, he was _Noah Puckerman_, starting Pyramid player, glee stud, and biggest all around bad-ass of McKinley High. (Or, at least, he'd dated her. But he was definitely number two on that list.) There were only thirty Marines left, but they were left for a reason. Once you were in, it was shape up or _die_.

"Four more laps," Sykes shouted at him as he ran by. "And Fischer wants us in weapons locker C12 in thirty!"

Shit. He was going to be late. There was no way he was going to get four more laps done in thirty minutes. No frakking way.

Shape up or _die._ Puck was sure he was so screwed.

***

"So what did you do?" Finn asked when Puck recounted the whole miserable day that night.

"What could I do? I bent over and took it, like the bitch they want me to be. I finished the laps and then reported to C12."

"Ouch." Finn frowned. "But you were late."

"I was told. In detail." Puck poked the gelatinous blob that was supposed to be macaroni and cheese and tried to forget Fischer's tirade. "I'm stuck on duty for Colonial Day next week, and I've got duty at 0430 tomorrow." He sighed. "And it's still frakking weird to call it 0430, instead of four thirty in the frakking morning."

Finn shrugged, shoveling his macaroni in like it actually tasted good. "I don't know. I'm used to it. It's just a little thing."

"Whatever," Puck muttered.

"Hey," Finn said, getting excited again, "have you been down to the deck? Did you see the raider?"

"The toaster one? Yeah, I saw it. Someone should blow that shit up."

"Are you kidding?" Finn said with a frown. "No way. That's, like… a military asset."

Puck stared at him. "Do you even know what that means?" he asked.

"No," Finn admitted. "I just heard Captain Adama saying it."

"Dude," Puck said, but he didn't have the energy to say more.

Finn shrugged. "Whatever. I just… I mean, have you met Lieutenant Thrace yet?"

Puck had to think for a minute. He was vaguely aware that there were other officers and soldiers on the ship, but right now his world had narrowed to the Marines. Finally, he placed her. "You've got to be the only person on this ship who calls her that," he said. "Everyone else calls her Starbuck."

"I know," Finn said, his face lighting up. "But seriously- she brought that thing home with a blown out knee. I mean, she's hard-core."

"Get over your crush, Hudson. Like she'd ever look at you."

"You're just jealous because she can kick your ass," Finn said around a mouthful of noodles.

Now he _really_ wasn't hungry. Puck pushed his plate away. "I've got to go."

"Was it something I said?" Finn asked.

"Nah," Puck lied. "It's nothing." He clapped Finn on the shoulder. "See you later. Don't drool on Thrace. I'm pretty sure she'd make you mop the floor with it."

"Funny," Finn called after him, but Puck was too drained to do anything more than flash an obscene gesture with his fingers.

_She can kick your ass._ Just like that, there was Lauren in his mind, right there next to him. He turned right and headed down the hall.

The first time Puck had been in the Memorial Hallway, it had made him frakking _angry_. All those pictures pinned to the wall- all those notes and pieces of people's lives, the candles and the grief that hung in the air- they were more than photos. They were headstones. The fire that had been burning in him ever since the attacks flared hotter, and he wanted nothing more than to get a gun, find all the Cylons and blow every last one of them away. If he died in the process, he wasn't sure he really cared. But the truth was he knew he wouldn't die. If he had a gun and if he had Cylons in front of him, he would _make_ the bastards die, and then he'd stand over their smoking tin can bodies and shoot them again.

As much as he tried to avoid the Memorial Hallway, though, it wasn't always possible. He usually tried to walk down the hall as fast as he could, but every now and then a face would pull his focus and he'd stop. Sometimes they were completely predictable: a thin woman with dark hair and dark eyes, a young girl with a popsicle-stained smile, a little blonde toddler, or a woman with glasses and straight hair and a soul-piercing gaze. Others weren't. Once he'd stopped and stared for five minutes at a picture of a skinny kid with curly red hair and freckles who had his arm draped around a taller blond boy's shoulders. They were standing outside in the sun. Puck had no idea if they were friends, if they were brothers, if they were boyfriends or what, and that bothered him. Because except for one person on this ship, no one else knew, either. And they were dead. They were probably about his age, and they were _dead_. And every time he looked at a face, the grief tainted the righteous anger a little more. He got why people were putting these pictures up now. Because they- the people in this Fleet- were the only ones left to remember.

He didn't have a picture of his mother, or of Sarah. He did have a picture of Lauren; their junior prom picture was the background on his phone. Mercedes printed that one out for him. He'd had a picture of Beth in his wallet, from the day she was born. But putting their pictures up here now felt like admitting the Cylons had won. Puck wasn't ready to do that, although he carried the two pictures in his pocket.

He stood in the Memorial Hall now, looking at the pictures. They were getting wrinkled from being carted around so much. Lauren glared at him, and he told himself she'd mock him for carrying it. She wouldn't- he loved her and that was what she wanted- but it was easier to believe that she would. Especially when the truth was she'd probably kick his ass for living in any kind of denial.

He shoved the pictures back in his pocket and went to his rack. He couldn't put the pictures up on _the_ Wall, but Lauren and Beth both deserved more. He taped the pictures to the wall by his rack, where he could see them. Where he could keep them both close, and if he was _really_ being sappy, tell himself that they were there beside him.

It was bullshit, and he knew it. But he stared at their pictures until he drifted off to sleep.

***

Puck snapped the two halves of his Cx4 Storm together, snapped the breakdown pin back in, and cocked it. He managed to finish it right as Sergeant Fischer blew his whistle. "Guns down!" he bellowed, and Puck looked down at his with a barely concealed sigh of relief.

Fischer walked down the ranks and picked up Jaffee's rifle, inspecting it. "Do it again."

"Sir?"

"Do it again!"

Jaffee looked confused, but immediately began to break his rifle down again. Puck watched, confident until Fischer stopped right in front of him. Gods, for a short guy, he was kind of scary.

"You're looking awfully smug, Puckerman."

Puck snapped to attention. "Not smug, sir." Although he was. He _totally_ was. He'd finally gotten the hang of putting this damn gun back together.

Fischer picked up his gun and examined it, and then picked up a piece and dangled it in front of Puck's face. The scope. "You forgot something."

Puck tried for bravado. "Don't need it, sir," he said. "I'm a natural."

Fischer frowned. The frown made him look even more terrifying. "You couldn't shoot me at point blank range, Puckerman."

That stung. "I could!" It was a _gun_, for frak's sake. You pointed it and squeezed the trigger. Puck knew that as soon as he had a chance to fire one of the damn things, he'd be awesome at it. But Fischer didn't look convinced.

"Do it again."

"I don't need to," Puck said, taking the scope. "I can just snap it on and-"

"AGAIN!"

Right. Don't argue. Just _do_. It took everything he had, but Puck pressed his lips closed and started breaking his gun down again.

***

"So after she told my buddy to get lost, she told _me_ that I was in." Ian Sykes and held his fist up for a bump. Puck obliged, because _dude_, Sykes deserved it. "Then I told her-"

"Puckerman." Two Marines blocked their path. Nowart and Maldonaldo. Again.

Maldonaldo looked at Sykes. "You're dismissed, recruit." Sykes saluted and hustled away, leaving Puck standing alone and facing the two marines.

"Heard you were giving Sergeant Fischer a hard time today," Nowart accused him. "You don't get the message too quickly, do you?"

"What message?" Puck asked, and then realized he'd better add that "Sir!" damn fast.

Nowart leaned in. He wasn't taller than Puck- if anything, he was a little shorter. But his face was hard and lean, his hair was shaved close, and he reminded Puck of those days in juvvie. Days he hadn't told the Marines about, but had been playing on the edges of his mind anyway. Days where there were other people a lot scarier than him, where they could make him do what they wanted. Days where he was completely out of his league.

Puck _really_ didn't like feeling like that.

"The message that you are not the shit you think you are," Nowart said. "We told you when you came in. You know nothing. You _are_ nothing. You are not the top dog; you are not even the bottom dog. You aren't even the _flea_ on a dog. You are the shit that that flea takes when its been kicked off the dog. You. Are. Nothing. And you're gonna get that message, or you're gonna find your ass back in the crew, and you'll be doing galley work and scrubbing the head after the real soldiers take a shit."

They tried to break you. Puck wasn't going to let them. "Aren't you guys a little old for shit like this?" he asked. "You throw me in the disposal unit again, you might throw out your backs."

Maldonaldo put a hand on Puck's back and shoved. "Let's go."

They pushed him down the halls and into a head where two other Marines were waiting. Twinam was in her BDUs, but Harder had stripped down to her tanks.

"What the-?" Puck suddenly realized that Harder was holding a razor blade. "Frak that!" he yelled, and lurched for the door. Maldonaldo slammed a hand against his chest, and Nowart grabbed his arm and twisted it up so Puck couldn't get free. He pulled on his arm so Puck had to follow or break a limb, and led him back over to the sink. Twinam trapped his head against her chest. She must have sensed that Puck was coming up with a great comment about those pillows his head was on, because she squeezed tightly enough that he saw stars.

"Got a good angle, Brandy?" Twinam asked.

"It will work. Hold still," Harder ordered Puck. "You don't, I'll cut you. Literally."

"Frak this.". He couldn't see in the mirror, but he didn't have to in order to know what was going on. "This is _insane_."

"This is the Colonial Marines," Nowart corrected him, twisting his arm again. "You step out of line, Puckerman, and there are consequences. You're paying them."

The Colonial Fleet didn't require any specific hairstyles from recruits, so Puck had kept his mohowk. It established his street cred before he even opened his mouth. The one time it had been shaved off the results had been a frakking disaster.

They poured water over his head. He tried to struggle, but as soon as the cold blade touched his scalp he froze. The razor scraped across his scalp, leaving his bare skin exposed to air that suddenly felt cold. When they finally let him up, his head dripping wet and his hair in the sink, he knew everything was going to be a disaster again. Especially when Nowart grabbed him by the back of the neck.

"You got the message, Puckerman? This is the Marines. This isn't high school, and you're not some frakking big man on campus anymore. If you want to be a Marine, you better start acting like it. Fall in line or get the frak out." He shoved Puck away and stormed out of the head.

***

Hair really did have a mojo. When Puck looked in the mirror and ran a hand over his shaved head, he felt like a different person. Not just a geek or a dweeb or a reject, but a _loser._ A Lima loser, the kind that failed at life and never amounted to anything. Not someone who never achieved fame, but someone who never even got respect. Someone who couldn't get things done.

_You're nothing_, he heard in his head, over and over again. _Nothing._

Puck had expected to fail at a lot of things in life. And he hadn't cared, because he hadn't _wanted_ most of those things. But he'd never really expected that he'd fail at this.

***

"What happened?" Mercedes asked, horrified when she saw his shaved head.

"Nowart and Maldonaldo," Puck said. Mercedes cocked her head inquiringly, but Puck just shook his in response. He _really_ didn't want to talk about it, and Mercedes had a big mouth.

Mercifully, she got the hint and changed the subject. "I've got news. They showed our segment on TV last night."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And we're being asked to sing at Colonial Day. By the President. Artie said Mr. Schuester said to practice on our own, and he'd get us over in time to run through it a couple times before we have to sing. It's all stuff we've done before."

"They're not gonna let me go. I've got duty that day."

"It's an order from the President. They have to let you go," Mercedes said. "When do you have downtime today?"

Puck sighed. "Nine- twenty one hundred hours."

"All right. Hangar deck. Be there." And before Puck could argue, Mercedes walked away.

He should be using his downtime to study up or to grab a shower before bed or whatever. But as much as he knew that was true and he was hanging in the Marines by a thread, he knew he'd be down there.

***

It was a good thing that the corner of the hangar deck they were using was deserted at this hour. It was _dangerous_.

"Step, kick, step, kick, step ball change, kick, spin- FINN!" Mercedes ducked. "After three years, how can you still be this bad?"

"He's faking it," Santana said.

"I am not!" Finn said. "I'm just exhausted!"

"Well, so are we, but we still aren't whacking each other and breaking noses," Mercedes said sourly.

"I thought we weren't ever going to mention that again."

"Which is why we've made it a thing to mention it once a month since it happened," Santana said.

"Come on," Puck said, glancing at his watch. "I've got to crash sometime tonight."

"All right," Mercedes agreed. "This time, let's add in the singing. Two, three, four…." They went through the song, and by the end Puck thought they actually sounded pretty damn good.

"Oh, bravo. Bravo." A woman with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and a tall, muscular, dark-skinned man with chiseled features were both clapping and smirking. Puck didn't recognize either of them, but Finn and Santana both straightened up immediately.

"Lieutenant Edmondson," Finn said. "Lieutenant McCall."

"I didn't know nuggets could sing and dance," McCall said.

"I think it's adorable," Edmondson said. They're like puppies. Slobbering, untrained puppies. Hudson, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"How long have you been singing and dancing?"

"Uh, about a half hour."

Edmondson's eye-roll rivaled Santana's. "I meant how long in your _life_, Hudson."

"Oh. Three years."

"Three years, huh? All right. Let's see it."

"Sir?" Finn said, glancing back at the others. Puck shrugged.

Edmondson gestured imperiously, with a superior sort of smirk. "You, Hudson. Sing and dance for us."

"When a senior officer gives you an order, you don't stand there and gape!" McCall backed her up. "She wants you to sing and dance! You say 'yes sir' and you sing and dance!"

"Oh. Um. Okay." Finn looked at Puck with a bit of panic. "What do you want me to sing, sir?"

"I'm not the musician here. Just sing and dance, Hudson." When Finn still hesitated, she shouted, "NOW!"

Puck was suddenly very, very relieved the Marines had no idea he was down here.

Finn launched into "I've Gotta Be Me." The singing was good, but, as ordered, Finn tried to dance, too. The two pilots didn't even bother to hide their laughter. After the first verse, Finn gave in and started to ham it up. Which, looking at the reactions of the pilots, might have been exactly the right thing to do. When he finished with a flourish, their applause actually seemed real.

"Not bad, Twinkletoes," McCall said.

Edmondson nodded. "Twinkletoes," she said. "There you go. That's your callsign."

Finn's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, but all he said was, "Thank you, sir."

She winked. Frakking _winked._ "As you were," she said, and the two of them took off.

"You got a call sign already?" Santana said as soon as they were out of earshot. "That's just ridiculous. You haven't even gotten in a Raptor."

"Jealous much?" Mercedes said. "Congratulations, Finn." Finn just looked stunned.

Finn was still grinning like an idiot. Probably because he _was_ one, Puck thought uncharitably. Finn was always too eager to have everybody like him. And yeah, pretty much everyone did, but still. Sometimes you had to piss people off. That was just part of life.

"Come on," Puck said, feeling a lot grumpier than he should. "Let's go through it again."

***

"Heard you put on quite the show last night, Puckerman," Nowart taunted, jogging up beside Puck as the recruits ran the circuit of _Galactica_. "Maybe we'll have to get you to do your little dancing monkey routine for us, if we can find an organ grinder."

Puck kept his eyes forward and his jaw clenched.

"Recruits!" Nowart shouted. "Article One of the Marine Code of Conduct!"

"'I am a Colonial, fighting in the forces which guard the Colonies and our way of life!'" eight voices shouted back in unison. "'I am prepared to give my life in their defense!'"

"And what are the values?" Nowart's voice was rough, echoing off the corridor walls, and he glared right at Puck.

"Honor! Courage! Commitment!"

"Puckerman! Define commitment!"

Puck's feet were starting to hurt and his mouth was getting dry, but he shouted it out. "'Commitment is the spirit of determination and dedication found in Marines. It leads to the highest order of discipline for individuals and units. It is the ingredient that enables 24-hour a day dedication to Corps and country. It inspires the unrelenting determination to achieve a standard of excellence in every endeavor,' sir!"

Nowart glared at Puck meaningfully. _Subtle, asshole_, Puck wanted to say. _Real subtle._ But he got the message. Marines stuck with Marines, at least for now.

***

"Puckerman." Sergeant Fischer caught Puck as he headed out of the first aid class.

"Yes, sir?" Puck couldn't help the slump of his shoulders. Fischer noticed and grimaced.

"Downtime tonight starts at twenty hundred hours. I want you in my office, first aid notes in hand by twenty oh five. We're getting this right tonight. Got it?"

Puck's ears burned. Before, he would have argued that you didn't have to know this shit, only how to shoot a gun. Now, he knew better, and the embarrassment was that he was the only one who needed remedial lessons. "Yes, sir."

"Don't be late."

***

"Dude, everyone gets downtime!" Finn protested. "It's regulation or something."

Puck tried to affect a confidence he wasn't even close to feeling. "Look, man, it's just because I'm so awesome. They know what they've got and they're giving me extra training, all right?"

For a moment, Puck was worried Finn wouldn't believe him. But then, this was _Finn,_ who had once believed you could get a girl pregnant in a hot tub through bathing suits and with your dick two feet away from her twat. Sure enough, Finn shrugged. "They don't do it that way with the pilots," he said, "but that's pretty cool, man. So things are going good?"

"Yeah," Puck said, lying through his teeth and then some. "Things are going great."

***

They heard the sounds through the blast doors in the landing bay. Sergeant Fischer was lecturing about the contents of the weapons locker they were standing in and didn't seem in any way concerned- he just raised his voice to shout over the deep, thundering booms that were followed by the hair-raising, spine-tingling screech of metal on metal.

"Of course, the mags here are for the C-4," Fischer explained. "There is also more ammo for Tristan 25, which is what you'll be carrying on guard duty."

_Guard duty._ Puck frakking _hated_ those words. He hadn't joined the military to guard shit- he'd joined to fight Cylons. Fischer just kept talking about the ammo that was in this locker. Not that it wasn't interesting- Puck was interested in anything that would blow the frakkers up- but the frustration was niggling at the back of his mind.

The blast doors opened. "Get yourself down to the launch tube and do it again!" someone shouted. "And this time, I want your hands on the controls at all time!"

"They were on the controls, sir!" Puck knew that voice instantly. Santana.

"Like hell they were, recruit! What were you doing, picking your nose or scratching your ass?"

"I was-"

"You are so full of shit. Now get your ass down there and do it again! When you land, you need to let up on the throttle and pull the nose up or you're going to put holes the size of craters in the deck again."

"Yes, sir," Santana said. She stalked by the Marines, not even looking at them. Puck lifted his gun just a bit in acknowledgement anyway.

"Puckerman!" Fischer yelled. "Repeat what I just said!" Puck opened his mouth, but his brain didn't kick in right away. Fischer's expression hardened. "Quarterdeck, Puckerman."

He knew from extensive experience that "quarterdeck" meant gods only knew how long of bends, squat thrusts, and jumping jacks. Puck barely managed to conceal his groan, and sharpened his focus on the ammo lecture that Fischer was giving. But right outside the door, the flight instructor was arguing with someone else.

"Geeze, Kara, are you trying to scare her off? She's a recruit, all right? It's her first time in the cockpit."

"Look, Lee. You guys put me on flight instruction because I know what I'm doing. So back the frak off and let me do my job!"

"But she-"

"She's the only one in that group of rejects that might be worth something!" Kara shouted back. "Of course I'm frakking hard on her! That's how she's going to get _good_, okay? So back the hell off!"

Puck wondered how high you had to be ranked to talk to a superior officer like that.

Fischer had finished his lecture and was leading them out when they heard the shouting, the triumphant whoops and laughter. As they walked through the landing bay, Puck spotted Santana being carried by a few other pilots in flight uniforms. She had her fist in the air and she was laughing. He knew he should be happy, and he was. But his very first thought was _bitch._ Especially when he saw Starbuck standing off to the side, clapping.

He knew the Marines were being harder on him than any of the other recruits, but it wasn't the same thing as what Starbuck was doing to Santana at all.

Definitely _bitch_.

***

Finally, the day he'd been waiting for came. The first time Puck ever fired a gun was on the shooting range of _Galactica_. It kicked back against his hands and nearly knocked him off his feet, and it was just at one of those paper targets, but it felt _good_. The first time he hit one of those paper targets felt even better.

This was why he was on _Galactica_. _This_ was what he meant to be doing. For the first time since he'd joined up, he felt like he was taking a step in the right direction towards his goal.

Now he just had to fire at some of those damn toasters for real.

***

"Bridge bunny hazing!" The shout echoed through the rec room. Puck looked at Jaffee, who shook his head in confusion.

"Oh, I heard this is great!" Sykes said, leaning forward.

"What's so great about it?" Puck asked.

"You know any geeks in high school?"

Puck snorted. "Yeah."

"Can you imagine them hazing someone?"

Puck suddenly imagined what a hazing for New Directions might look like and groaned.

Two petty officers led in six recruits, Mercedes included. She spotted Puck and gave him a wave with her fingertips. She was already swaying drunkenly, and for some reason, she had a pair of underpants on her head and there was a smeared design drawn in lipstick on her cheeks. One petty officer carried a carton of eggs, and the other had a bottle of liquor and a shot glass.

"Recruit Hazelton!" the woman with the eggs shouted. "Give the protocol for relaying coordinates to a ship with a XTL980 computer!"

"Sir. First, a recruit connects with the… with the…."

As he faltered, the woman grinned evilly and smashed the egg on the recruit's head. As the shell broke it became obvious the eggs were rotten. He covered his nose.

"Who's next, Specialist Green?" she asked her companion.

"Recruit Jones, Petty Officer Dualla."

"Recruit Jones!" Petty Officer Dualla shouted, and Mercedes- gods, how much had they given her to drink?- swayed on her feet but saluted. "What is the authentication code for a civilian shuttle?"

Mercedes didn't even hesitate. "Gulf Juliet Tango one three eight, sir!"

Dualla nodded, and Green handed Mercedes a shot glass. She took it, took a deep breath, and then swallowed it down.

"Shit," Puck said, shaking his head. "She's gonna hurl."

It was the stupidest hazing he'd ever seen, and he got why so many people were laughing their asses off. In fact, he kind of wondered why he wasn't. But something about it made him feel… shit.

"I'm going to bed."

"But they just got started!" Jaffee protested.

"Whatever. I'm out of here." He stalked out of the room, bumping shoulders with someone coming in and barely noticing. He got Santana making her landing and Finn being everybody's little brother, but even though Mercedes was a cool enough chick, she wasn't military type. Not like him. He grit his teeth and punched the wall, then regretted it when it _really frakking hurt._ Stupid frakking bridge bunnies.

As he headed down the hall, he spotted Nowart talking to an officer. Nowart was leaning against the wall, standing very close to the officer, who ducked his head and smiled flirtatiously. Puck stared for a long moment before he remembered that staring at same-sex couples wasn't something you did off Gemenon, but Nowart caught him looking and scowled. He grabbed the officer by the arm and pulled him away, and Puck's shoulder's sagged.

Damn it, even when he was _trying_ not to frak up, it happened anyway.

***

Mercedes was right about Colonial Day; it had been an order from the President, and so all four of them were given four hours leave. Puck was not going to admit how great it was to see New Directions again, and how great it felt to get off _Galactica_. When the others swarmed them like it had been years, not just a couple of weeks that they'd been gone, Puck stood back with a cocky grin.

"How is it?" Artie asked eagerly. "Is it as awesome as you thought it would be?"

"Hell, yeah," Puck said, stripping off his BDU jacket to change into his costume. "Better, even. I've shot down six toasters already."

"You have not," Santana snapped. "None of us have. We're still recruits- you're not even a _private_ yet."

He glared at her, but Santana didn't notice. Or, more likely, didn't care. Besides, she was too busy pretending she wasn't eyeing up Brittany. Whatever. Puck turned back to Artie and socked him on the shoulder. "No, seriously, man, it's awesome. Wish you were over there."

"Yeah, well." Artie gestured at his chair. He didn't seem to broken up about it though. For a moment, Puck hated him.

"Come on," he said, pushing the chair. "Let's knock em dead before I have to go back to killing toasters." He had four hours to just be with New Directions and sing and be on top. Puck didn't want to waste a single second of it.

***

He'd in no way expected that just because his absence was ordered didn't mean he'd get away with it, and when the Raptor docked, there were Nowart and Maldonaldo, waiting for him. Maldonaldo had an evil grin on his face, Nowart had a scowl. Puck didn't know which one honestly scared him more.

"All right," he said with a sigh, resigned to whatever punishment they were planning to dole out. "Let's get this over with. Sirs."

***

The sound of gunshot echoed in his ears, despite the headphones. He fired again and again, each shot finding the torso of the target down the range. The gun jerked in his hands and strained against his arms, but he expected that now. And damn, he was getting _good_.

"Hey, Puckerman," Sykes said when Puck took off the headphones. "Did you hear?"

"Did I hear what?" Puck asked.

"Word has it we're in orbit around a planet," Sykes said. "Like, a real one. One people can actually get down on."

"The word is 'habitable', idiot," Peters said.

"Yeah? Are we settling or something?"

"Got me," Sykes said with a shrug, snapping a few parts on his gun. "But I hear they're sending Marines down to the surface. I guess- Puckerman? Where are you going?"

Puck was already headed for the door. Frak this shit. He'd joined. He'd learned how to shoot a gun, and a lot of other stuff, too. It was time that he got to _fight_ for a change.

***

Puck had only seen Gunnery Sergeant Mathias a couple of times before he barged into her office; most of the recruit business was handled by underlings. She was sitting at her desk, her light hair pulled back in a tight tail, a frown on her solid face. She didn't pause in her writing when Puck stormed in.

"I hear there's a mission," Puck said. "I'm volunteering, sir."

"I wasn't aware I was asking for volunteers," Mathias said.

"But I'm ready and I'm willing-"

"That's not how this works." She finally looked up. "If I want volunteers, I volunteer them. Get out of my office."

"What do you want from me?" Puck demanded. "I'm here! I've been training! I'm ready to fight! And I'm not afraid of dying! If I die, so what? As long as I take some toasters out with me-"

Mathias put her pen down. "I don't have so much as a company of Marines, recruit. Counting the eight of you, I have a platoon. That's it. One platoon." She stood up. She was shorter than Puck, but there was something about the way she stood that made Puck take a step back. "So I repeat, that's not how this works. Now get out of my office."

He felt like he should have tried to argue it more, but there was nothing more he could say. He left.

***

"You didn't really try to volunteer for a mission on a planet, did you?" Mercedes asked him when he saw her in the head.

"How the frak did you hear that?" he asked.

Mercedes just grinned. "I hear everything." Puck rolled his eyes, because yeah, she did. "So is it true?"

"Yeah, it's true," Puck said. "What's the big deal?"

"We find a planet where people can get outside for the first time in two months, and you don't get why that would be an assignment people would be fighting over?" Mercedes asked skeptically. "Tell me you are not that stupid."

There was something funny about her face. Puck paused, his hands on his belt, studying her. "What? Are there toasters down there?"

"No. No, it's not that." Mercedes sat down on the bench. "It's just some rumors I've been hearing. Puck, how well do you know the Scriptures?"

He shrugged. "Not that well. My family's always followed Mithras and I only went to temple when my Nana dragged me."

"And you probably spent most of the time drawing dirty pictures or pulling pigtails."

"Yup," Puck said proudly.

Mercedes rolled her eyes. "Anyway," she said, "you know about Kobol, right?"

"Kobol? The Thirteen Tribes and birthplace of humanity and the Exodus and all that? Yeah, who doesn't know about that shit?" Puck shrugged and pulled off his pants. If he was hoping Mercedes would be impressed or embarrassed by the view he was disappointed, because she wasn't looking at him at all. "What about Kobol?"

"They're saying _this_ is Kobol."

"Who?" Puck scoffed. "Like anyone would know. It doesn't have a road sign on it, does it?"

"No, but they've found ruins."

Puck snorted. "Doesn't mean it's Kobol."

"Doesn't mean it's not," Mercedes said, and Puck suddenly remembered that Mercedes was religious. Like, not just the kind of religious like he was, where he vaguely believed something out there existed and listened, but _really_ religious, like where she believed the stories in the Scrolls and prophets and stuff. In other words, this conversation wasn't a place Puck wanted to go.

"Yeah," he said. "Look, I've got to get my shower. They aren't sending me down, but I've actually got some sort of guard duty shit going on in a half hour. I'll see you later."

"See you later," Mercedes said, and Puck really hoped she wasn't praying on the bench in the enlisted head. He shook his head and headed for the shower. Kobol. It didn't matter what that planet was; all that mattered was that he was stuck on this ship and not in the thick of the action.

***

His first guard duty was excruciatingly dull. He was stuck guarding the brig, which was bullshit because the only person in there was a knuckledragger sleeping one off. It was boring as shit, and he mainly ended up watching the hands go around the clock and studying the handbook he was allowed to bring. On the bright side, he knew that handbook backwards and forwards by the end of four hours. And he still had another four to go.

The hatch opened. Puck drew himself up, ready to challenge whoever was entering, but relaxed when he saw it was Finn. "What are you doing down here?" he asked.

"Looking for you," Finn said. "Look, I heard something I thought you might want to know."

"What is it?"

"The three Raptors that were sent down to Kobol? One's back already."

"If you're going to tell me they found evidence of the gods or whatever, go tell Mercedes," Puck said. "She's the one who-"

"Not gods," Finn interrupted. "Cylons."

"What?"

"One Raptor's gone already. I mean, really gone." Finn's face was a little pale, and it wasn't just the harsh lighting of the brig. "Like, it exploded. The other Raptor crashed on Kobol. They think that people might be alive, but…."

"You're kidding." Puck's stomach turned a little. "How many-"

"There were ten people on the first Raptor," Finn said. "The pilots, the ECO, three specialists, and a fire squad of Marines."

Four Marines dead. And maybe four more dead on the surface of that planet below. Puck stared at Finn. "You're not shitting me?"

"Why would I be?" Finn asked, spreading his hands out. "We knew this when we signed on, Puck. It's war. People die."

"Yeah. Right." Puck pulled himself together. "Look, I told you, you're not supposed to be down here."

"I know. I just thought you'd want to know."

"Well, you told me, so get out, okay?"

"Okay." Finn shot him one more annoyingly sympathetic look and then headed out. The hatch clanged shut, echoing through the small room. In the cell, the knuckledragger snorted and turned over, but didn't wake up.

Four Marines dead. Puck's jaw clenched, and he gripped his handbook. Well, like Finn said, this was why they signed on. Puck wasn't going to be bothered by it- it was all part of the job. And one more reason to shoot those frakkers down.

His hands shook as he read.

***

The racks were nearly dark when Puck entered. He pulled off his jacket and hung it in his locker, and then sighed and rolled his shoulders.

"Want a drink?"

He started. Nowart was sitting on the edge of a rack, a bottle in hand. His face looked sunken in the dim light, and his eyes were little more than glittering pinpoints. He extended the bottle to Puck. "Want a drink?" he repeated.

"Didn't think you were supposed to give me booze," Puck said.

"What's it matter right now?" Nowart asked, taking a swig from the bottle himself. "They should have a wake, but no one can do it right now. No one except me and you."

"Why can't anyone do it?"

"You know how many Marines are supposed to be on this ship?" Nowart asked him.

"Two companies worth, sir," Puck responded automatically.

"Sir," Nowart repeated, his mouth twisting into an ugly sneer. "_Sir_. Right. That's what's left of the Marine Corps. Twenty nine of us and eight recruits to call us Sir. Out of the three hundred and sixty stationed on _Galactica_. Out of the… out of the _thousands_ of us that took the oath."

"I heard about the Raptor that went down to Kobol," Puck said, backing up a little and wondering if he could crash somewhere else for tonight. Nowart was freaking him out. "Any word on the one that crashed?"

Nowart ignored his question and instead took another deep drink from the bottle, and then extended it again. "Drink with me, Puckerman," he said. "Drink to the Marines that lost their lives."

"Sir, I-"

"DRINK!"

Well, it wasn't like he had issues with booze. Puck took the bottle and took a deep swallow, grimacing at the rawness of it. He handed the bottle back.

"I've wanted to be a Marine since I was eight," Nowart said. "_Eight_. My aunt was a Marine, and she was… she was something. You ever know someone like that? Someone who could kick your ass and make you love it?"

"My girlfriend," Puck said. "Hottest thing ever."

"Girlfriend." Nowart snorted. "She in your singing group?"

"She was. She wasn't on our flight, though." Puck raised his head. "She's dead," he forced himself to say, and it was the first time he said the words.

"That sucks. Have another drink." This time Puck took it without arguing. "Who else did you lose?" Nowart asked him.

"My mom. My sister. My old man, but he was a deadbeat anyway."

"Yeah. Mine, too."

Puck nodded. The couple swallows of alcohol he'd had weren't enough to get him even tipsy, but something in him was loose enough to say, "Beth."

"You said her." Nowart took another long drink.

"No I didn't."

"Girlfriend."

"She wasn't my girlfriend." That caught Nowart's attention enough that he looked up. "Daughter," Puck explained, and his face felt like it had been frozen.

"Oh." Nowart shook his head. "Lot of people died. Lot of people. You know what the worst is? When you watch them die, when you swore you'd protect them, and then when you live and you're left with the knowledge that you couldn't do a damn thing to stop it. That's your problem, you know."

"My problem?"

Nowart was sitting, but he was swaying even harder now, and his words were slurring. "Your problem," he repeated. "You think… you think that you can come in here and pick up a gun and save the world. Take 'em all down and that will somehow change things. But you know what? You'll be lucky to save a person. And for what? Gods only know, but-" Nowart cut off abruptly, the skin around his mouth turning green.

"Oh, frak," Puck sighed, and got a waste basket under him just in time.

A part of him wondered why he was doing this. Nowart had done nothing but make his life hell ever since Puck had been tapped for the Marines, and it wasn't like Puck would do this for anyone else. Hell, when Artie- _Artie_- had puked his guts after that train wreck of a party Rachel had, Puck had just laughed and handed him a water after. And it wasn't like the guy had hair to hold back. But there he was, holding a bucket as the guy puked.

"You need water," Puck said as Nowart groaned and lay back in the bed. "I'll- oh, frak it." He rummaged through a locker and got a glass, and then found a canteen and ducked out to fill it. When he got back, Nowart was barely conscious. "Come on, sir," Puck said. "You need to drink. I'm guessing you don't want to be hung over tomorrow."

He ended up having to practically pour the water down the man's throat, and well as the painkiller. Finally, he gave up. "Whatever, sir," he said as Nowart collapsed on the mattress. Puck hesitated, sighed, and pulled the man's boots off and hauled his feet up onto the rack. Screw whoever's rack that actually was. "You owe me for this," Puck told him as Nowart started snoring. And then, because Nowart was unconscious and couldn't answer, he added, "Asshole."

He'd thought about finding Finn or Mercedes or Santana, but decided that right now sleep trumped everything. Hoping he'd be able to sleep over the sound of Nowart's snores, he climbed up into his own and toed off his boots. He lay on side, staring at the pictures of Beth and Lauren that he'd taped to the wall until he fell asleep.

***

Nowart was pulling on his jacket when Puck hauled himself out of the rack the next morning. Their eyes met, and Nowart looked stony. He nodded once, and then looked away.

He walked out of the room without saying a word, and Puck breathed a sigh of relief.

***

"That frakking _bitch!_"

"Who, President Roslin?" Puck asked, looking up from his hand of cards as Santana stormed into his bunkroom. The room was empty- a lot of the Marines were on missions and the recruits were taking advantage.

"It's your turn, Finn," Mercedes complained from her seat next to Puck. "Go already."

"I'm going," Finn answered, still not putting down his cards.

"No," Santana answered, staring at Puck like he was insane. She sat down on Jaffee's bed. "Starbuck."

"Starbuck? I thought you were all over her ass," Puck said.

Santana glared at him. "You heard what happened, right?"

"She took the Raider under Roslin's orders," Finn said, _finally_ tossing his card in. He looked defensive. "You can't refuse an order from the President."

"Um, yes, you can," Mercedes said. "Especially when your orders come from the Commander."

"Who cares who gave the order?" Santana said, sitting down next to Finn. "The point is that the bitch is _gone_."

"Why are you so worked up about it? I thought you'd be glad to have the chance to be out from under her. Didn't you call her a hair-pulling, ass-riding dominatrix?" Mercedes asked.

"Yes," Santana said, completely unapologetic, "but who else is going to teach me to fly? I'm _finally_ behind the controls of a damn Viper and she goes jumping off to Gods know where for some 'mission'," she made the sarcastic air quotes, "and leaves us with _Catman_ training us. The guy got his callsign because he's a frakking _pussy_ when it comes to flying." She crossed her arms and glared down at the discard pile. "Frak Starbuck. Are you ever going to deal me in?"

"If Hudson ever takes his turn," Puck said. "Seriously, dude, you are the slowest Triad player in the history of the Colonies."

"Maybe we should stick to Go Fish," Mercedes suggested, snickering.

"Hey," Finn said, spreading his hands. "I'm not _that_ bad. I just don't like losing all my cubits, all right? And don't," he said, glaring at Santana, "even suggest that we play strip Triad."

Santana shut her mouth.

Puck grinned and played his own turn. The room was empty except for the four of them; something that didn't happen often. He wasn't even going to admit to himself how much he was enjoying it.

"What do you think everyone else is doing right now?" Finn asked.

"Drinking themselves into a stupor," Santana said as she fanned her cards out. "That's what I would be doing if it wouldn't get my ass busted."

"I meant New Directions," Finn said.

"So did I."

Finn frowned. "Do you think they're all right?"

"Of course they're all right," Puck scoffed. But Finn looked serious. "You regretting this?"

"What? No, not at all," Finn said. "Just… nothing."

"It's okay," Mercedes said, putting a hand on Finn's arm. "You can say you miss them. We miss them, too."

"Right," Santana said with a snort.

"Whatever," Puck agreed. Puck might have gotten sentimental, but the PA crackled into life.

"Action stations, action stations. Set Condition One throughout the Fleet."

Puck had heard that call before, but something sounded different about it this time. Normally, Lieutenant Gaeta's voice was brisk and unemotional. This time, there was genuine panic. But by the time that analysis sunk in, he was already down in the Marine ready room, waiting for orders. The other recruits were coming in, along with the few Marines that hadn't been sent on missions.

"Did you hear?" Peters said. "Adama's been shot." Her words set off a flurry of protests.

"The Old Man-"

"There's no way that could happen. How the hell could that happen?"

"How does someone shoot the Commander in the middle of the CIC?" Puck demanded. The whole thing didn't make any frakking sense. It wasn't that he even knew Commander Adama or anything. Puck recognized him, but Adama wouldn't be able to return the favor and pick him out of a pile of dead bodies; Puck was sure about that. But even still, it felt like chopping down that tree in Aphrodisias Park- the one that was like five thousand years old or something. It just wasn't something that was supposed to happen.

"Attention!"

The Marines in the ready room snapped to attention, and Mathias hustled in. "The Commander's been shot," she said, with no preamble. "We have a Cylon agent on board. In addition, we've got two new prisoners in the brig; Captain Adama and President Roslin." There was murmuring at that announcement, but one sharp glare from Mathias shut them all up. "Our job is to maintain order on this ship. Fire Squad Delta, I want you up in the CIC. Fire Squad Episilon, head for the brig." Her eyes flicked over to where the recruits were bunched together. "Puckerman, Jaffee, Sykes, and Peters, I want you on landing bay. Cottle is coming back from the _Rising Star_, and he needs to get to the infirmary as fast as possible. Go!"

"Like anyone's going to get in the way," Sykes said as they jogged in formation down to the landing bay.

"A toaster will," Puck said. "If there's another one on _Galactica_, Cottle would be their target."

"_Frak_," Jaffee breathed, and then looked at his three companions. "How do we know that we're not Cylons, then? I mean, I know about me, but not you guys."

Puck's stomach froze.

"Be too much of a coincidence," Peters said firmly. " Mathias assigned us. If we volunteered it would be different, but what are the chances?" They'd made it to the landing deck and fanned out, waiting for the Raptor. Nothing landed.

"We jumped on the way here, didn't we?" Jaffee asked when five minutes had gone by.

The funny thing was, Puck didn't even notice jumps anymore if he was in the middle of something. Part of it was that the _Galactica_ was so huge, but he'd just gotten so used to it that he had to think about the question. "Yeah," he said finally. "I thought I heard it on the PA."

"Well, then, what the frak is going on?"

"I'll go find out." Puck jogged over. The people in the landing bay were in knots. He looked for a familiar face, and finally spotted Lieutenant Edmondson- Racetrack, Finn had finally told him. "Excuse me, sir," he said. "I'm looking for the Raptor that Dr. Cottle is on."

Racetrack looked at him as if he was insane, and then her face cleared. "You haven't heard?"

"Heard what, sir?"

"The Fleet's missing."

He blinked at her. "Excuse me, sir?" For a moment, he thought she was playing some joke. That this was his hazing. _Hey, kid, guess what! The Fleet is missing and we're lost in space! Let's see if you get panicked enough to try to find a window!_ But Racetrack's frown deepened, and Puck realized she _wasn't_ joking. This was real. The Fleet was missing.

"Shit."

"My thoughts exactly."

"I can't believe we frakked up bringing back the doctor."

Racetrack shrugged and turned away, her attention on something else. Puck took that as a tacit dismissal and jogged back. "Well?" Jaffee asked when Puck got closer.

"We're in a shitload of trouble."

"He isn't even here!" Sykes protested. "How can we-"

"Not just us," Puck said, gesturing to the four of them. "All of us. We're frakking screwed."

***

"We're not screwed," Mercedes told Puck a few hours later. An odd near silence was spread over _Galactica_. With the Commander in the sick bay and the Fleet missing, no one was quite sure what they were supposed to be doing. They sat on the hangar deck with Finn and Santana, legs dangling off the catwalk. "They're working on it. They'll come up with some way for us to find the Fleet again."

"You have any idea how hard it is to find anything in space?" Santana asked her. "We could be, like, a hundred miles from them and still not see them."

"There are these little things called radios," Mercedes shot back. "You know, things you send signals out on? That the Fleet just might pick up?"

"Shut up," Puck ordered them both, leaning his forehead against the cool metal of the railing. "Just shut up. It's not like any of us can do anything anyway."

"What _are_ we going to do?" Finn asked.

"Sit here and wait, genius," Puck said. "Unless you know how to find a Fleet."

"No, I mean, without a Fleet," Finn clarified. "What's the point? Without us, they're sitting ducks, but without them…" He swallowed hard, his hands closing around the rail. "Without them, what's the point?"

"The point is to blow up Cylons," Puck said. "That's always been the point."

Finn didn't answer or look at him; he just kept looking down at the flight deck. His jaw was working funny, and his eyes were slightly narrowed as his hands clenched tight on the rail. Puck sighed impatiently, but Finn was lost in his own thoughts.

"Come on," Mercedes said, hauling herself to her feet. "I don't know about you guys, but I've got to get back. My break's up."

"Same here," Santana said. She got to her feet more gracefully than Mercedes and tossed her hair over her shoulder. Puck noticed for the first time that she'd cut it. Not a buzz like he was stuck with, just shorter. In her tanks and BDUs, she looked older and more confident than any of them.

"Come on," he said, touching Finn's shoulder as he got up himself. "We're not doing anything just sitting here."

Not that they'd be able to do anything anywhere else, either. But Puck was getting used to that.

***

Puck had gotten to know the Marines' ready room extremely well. It wasn't anything like the glimpses he'd gotten of the pilots' ready room. Instead, it was a small, enclosed area with gating, lockers, and two gateleg tables and steel frame chairs. Puck stood along the wall at ease.

"We have a security detail on the brig," Mathias said. "We'll take what we can off, but with a Cylon down there, we can't ignore it. So, we've got two squads to work with. Command says we're jumping back to Kobol. We fully expect to be entering enemy territory. Once we're there, the bunnies in the CIC will recalculate the coordinates, and we will jump away. According to Lieutenant Gaeta, we will be in enemy territory for twelve minutes. Any more than that, and we're all going to die."

"Cheerful, Gunny," Hollis said.

"I'm here all week," Mathias said dryly. "There's no ground component to this maneuver. It's either going to work or we're going to go down flaming. On the bright side, there is a planet to crash into, so if there are any survivors, we're the ones defending them.

"The possibility we have to be prepared for is that we're boarded. For the duration of the operation, we'll be stationed at two areas. One squad will guard the CIC. If we are boarded, we need to ensure that nothing interferes with those calculations and the jump away. The other squad will be stationed here." Mathias pointed to a schematic, but Puck couldn't see clearly from his position. Fischer, you take the squad that'll head here. I'll take the CIC."

"Yes, sir."

Puck hoped to be assigned to the squad that was headed "here", wherever that was. If there was action, they'd get it first. However, he found himself in Mathias's squad instead, and when she ordered, he followed them out.

The CIC had one door. Puck felt like it was a little excessive for twelve of them to be guarding one stupid door, but even as he stood there he could _feel_ the anticipation and tension coursing through the ship. He gripped his rifle, his hands sweating a little and his stomach tight.

A woman stepped out of a door down the hall. Puck blinked; he'd become so used to duty blues, drabs, and tanks that her pink dress looked completely out of place. Mathias caught Puck's eye and gestured with her head. He saluted and went to corral the civilian.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, approaching her. The woman turned and cocked an eyebrow at him. "You need to get back into your quarters."

"No, I need to visit the little girls' room," the woman said. She was older, but damn, she was hot. Blonde, wavy hair, awesome boobs and a toned ass, and one hell of a smile. "Is that allowed?"

"Ma'am, we're beginning an operation-"

"Psh. I'm still allowed to pee."

Puck had had to listen to a lot of people ordering him around ever since he'd gotten on this ship. This woman who was most clearly a civilian was _not_ going to be one of them, damn it. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back to the quarters she'd just exited. "Now, ma'am."

He'd expected that it might tick her off; what he hadn't expected was her sly, cat-like smile. "Oooh. Very authoritative for a…" her eyes flicked down to his jacket where an insignia should be and then back at his face, "recruit, even. Impressive. I like it when men know what they want."

She was _totally_ into him, but even Puck's libido knew this wasn't the time or place. But he could use it. "Well, what I _want_ is for you to get back in your quarters, ma'am."

She sighed. "If you're _ordering_ me, I guess I have to do what you say." She looked up at him through her lashes. "Maybe I'll have to find you after all this and you can order me around again." She gripped his arm, feeling his biceps.

"Puckerman!" Mathias yelled. "How long does it take to get one woman back in her quarters? We jump in thirty seconds!"

"Right," the woman sighed. "The jump. Well, then, I'll go be a good little girl. For now." She winked at Puck, and retreated back into the quarters she had come from. Puck jogged back to the CIC, feeling immensely better. That lasted all of twenty-eight seconds. Then they jumped.

Immediately, the ship began to shake. Puck fell back against the wall because he wasn't expecting it; obviously a rookie mistake. He pushed himself back to standing and spread his legs and bent his knees, the stance improving his stability.

"We've got twelve minutes," Mathias said. She looked exactly like she had before they'd jumped, despite the way the floor pitched every now and then and the lights flickered.

It was strange. Puck _knew_ they were being fired on, but he couldn't hear anything. He'd always expected that, in the middle of a battle (oh, gods, he was in the middle of a _battle, finally_), there would be loud explosions and he'd have to shout to be heard. But the only thing he ever heard was the thumps of something hitting _Galactica_ and muffled, ordered shouting down in the CIC. There was a whole fight going on out there as ships engaged ships, but he couldn't hear or see a damn thing. Just this hallway.

"Eight minutes," Mathias said.

Eight minutes. Puck braced himself, looking around. A pair of officers hustled by, and he heard shouting down the hall. This was it. He swallowed hard, ready to shoot.

Nothing. The shouting was just a group of specialists headed to the turrets, bringing ammo.

The ship shook _hard_. There was some sort of alarm going off, a loud buzzing. A light near his head sparked, and he pulled away. There were more voices, but they didn't sound alarmed yet. Just… urgent. Active. Like a well-oiled machine doing what it was meant to do.

"Four minutes."

Gods, this was killing him. Puck found himself half-praying that a toaster party would round the corner. He'd be able to shoot, to kill, to _do something._ To take those bastards out, to be a hero, to give those CIC people just a little more time to jump the ship to… to… wherever the hell they were going, Puck didn't know and didn't care. He just wanted that party to come so he could finally-

They jumped away.

All of a sudden, the whole ship went quiet. There was no rocking, no thumps of things hitting the hull. There were still voices and shouting, but it sounded different now. And inside the CIC, he heard a cheer go up.

"We found the Fleet!" he heard the words from inside. There had been no Cylon boarding party, no chance to shoot… nothing. In the end, all Puck had done was stand in front of a door holding a gun.

Mathias's face was completely different, though. She looked relieved. She gestured to Puck, Sykes, Peters, and Jaffee. "Cottle will be over as soon as they can get him here," she said. "Go give the doctor an escort to sickbay. And this time, don't lose him."

***

"Okay. Cottle's in sickbay," Jaffee said. "Did Mathias tell us where to go next?"

"No, I-" Puck was cut off when the lights flickered again. "Frak. Are they gonna keep that up all day, because-" The lights went out completely.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" Peters said. "Does anyone have a flashlight?"

"We all have flashlights," Sykes said. "They're on our belts."

"Oh. Right."

Puck unhooked his flashlight and turned it on. The utter darkness of the ship was frakking eerie. "This has got to suck for the rest of the ship," he said.

"The auxiliary power will kick on," Jaffee said, clearly trying to sound tough but not really. "Just not through places like this."

Puck was going to say something more, but in the distance they heard screaming, and then the sharp, terrible sound of gunfire.

"What the hell?" Peters had her gun in front of her, gripping it.

"Run," Jaffee said.

"Where?" Sykes asked. "Towards the gunfire or away from it?"

"We're Marines. What the hell do you think?" Puck said, and his blood started to burn. He had no idea what was happening, but finally. _Finally._ This was what he'd joined up for. He pulled his gun off his shoulder and began to run through the halls, heedless of whether or not the others were following him.

He heard the gunshots right in front of them, and there were flashes of light against the metal of the walls, and then the fading sounds of mechanical footfalls on the floor as the Cylons continued away. Puck grit his teeth and increased his pace, his shoulders tensing in grim determination. Almost there-

"Get down!" someone ordered, grabbing him by the belt. Puck reeled back to see Nowart crouched behind a crate, reloading. "Get down!" Nowart ordered him again.

Automatically, Puck obeyed. He wanted to argue and tell Nowart that he wanted to fight, but Nowart's face stopped him. The man was already sweaty with blood smeared down one cheek.

"Okay, listen up," Nowart said as the other three joined them. "We've got a boarding party," he spoke quickly. "Near as I can count, there are sixteen of the frakkers. And they're tough. Tougher than we thought. Don't waste your ammo going for the body- it's got to be the head, or they're not going down. Worse, your bullets are just going to ricochet, and in close quarters like this, that's gonna get you killed. You guys with me so far?"

They all nodded.

"Good. Duck behind something to load, don't get in front of each other, and don't get shot. Got it? Let's go."

The corridors were still pitch dark, and Puck stumbled over something. Automatically, he looked down, and then stopped. It was a dead body.

"Just keep going unless you want to see more of those," Nowart ordered, pushing Puck.

Puck obeyed, schooling his mind back on what he was doing. But some part of his mind whispered that that person? They hadn't been a Marine or an officer. Puck didn't have the first idea who they were, but whoever it was, they hadn't been a ranker, and they were dead. Then he forgot it completely, because there in front of him were the Centurions. Which, holy shit. They were a lot _bigger_ than Puck ever thought they'd be.

"Get down now!" Nowart yelled, and one of the Centurions turned, and then fired.

Puck had ducked behind one of the supports, and he'd never, _ever_ admit it to anyone, but as the bullets rained by him he was terrified. His stomach was clenching and his mouth was dry and his hands were sweating, and for one horrible moment he thought about just running away and never, ever coming back.

And if he did that, when he did finally die, Lauren would kick his ass across the afterlife. And his mother and Sarah and Beth…. He leaned out and fired.

He didn't hit a damn thing; he was pretty sure of that. But when he ducked back behind the support that was shielding him, he was intact. That helped. That helped a _lot._ He took a deep, shuddering breath, the air hot and metallic in his lungs, and leaned out to fire again.

This time he could see the Cylons better. They didn't look like the ones he remembered seeing in museums, all gold and clunky. These were sleek and silver and a lot frakking scarier. They had razor sharp claws, guns in their arms, and red eyes flashing in the dark. The gun jerked in his hands, bucking back on his shoulder and the vibrations traveling up his arms. But he didn't take any of the Cylons down.

He hit the wall again and tried to catch his breath. Everything sounded so crisp and loud, and the smell of smoke and metal and blood was sharp in his nostrils. But the urge to run was… not gone, but at least he could ignore it now, and although he was still scared, that hot rage that had been driving him ever since the attack felt like it had purpose now. He glanced across the hall, where Nowart had ducked behind a crate and was changing guns.

Two things happened at once: Nowart rose up and fired with a much louder blast, and Jaffee screamed, jerking back and falling to the floor. Puck didn't even think; he dove out into the hall, grabbed Jaffee, and pulled him back as the Centurions fired at them. Jaffee was swearing and getting blood all over, but there was no place to even be able to see where he was bleeding from, much less a place to do something about it.

"You okay, man?" Puck asked, getting his gun back into position.

"No, I've been shot, you idiot!" Jaffee said grimacing in pain. "I'm not okay!"

Well, he was talking. He had to be sort of okay. Puck was about to say something when he realized that the guns had silenced and Nowart was right there.

"How is he?" he asked, looking at Jaffee.

"Alive," Puck said. "Yelling at me."

Peters and Sykes joined them. "What happened to the Centurions?" Peters asked.

"They aren't interested in killing each person off one at a time," Nowart answered briskly. "All right. Here's the situation. The Centurions are moving forward. All logic would say they're headed towards auxiliary fire control. Peters, I want you to get to the CIC and pass the word to the Colonel. Sykes, get Jaffee back to sick bay, and then rendezvous with us at the forward port enlisted head. You shouldn't run into much resistance on that path. Puckerman, you're coming with me."

"Where are we going, sir?"

Nowart made a face. "Explosive rounds," he said. "Only thing that's taking these bastards down." He looked at the other three. "You see anyone, you pass the word. Explosive rounds and head shots. Got it?" They nodded. "Good. Puckerman, let's go." Peters held up her fist, and Puck bumped it, and then nodded at Jaffee and Sykes before he scrambled after Nowart.

"Keep up," Nowart ordered him, but for once, the order didn't feel like something that had come from a ticked-off babysitter dealing with a particularly annoying charge. "We're going to start with locker A-176."

"Yes, sir."

Nowart glanced back over his shoulder with a surprised expression, like he'd expected an argument, but Puck had no reason whatsoever to argue. He ran after Nowart, eyes darting around him in the dark corridors, looking for some evidence of Centurions.

"Thought there'd be more of them," he said to Nowart. "Or they'd be after us."

Nowart shook his head. "We're not in their way," he explained. "They're focused on the mission. Can't let anything distract from that. Even killing humans."

Puck huffed a bitter laugh. "Must be a hardship for them, huh?"

"Right." Nowart skidded to a stop. "Here we are. At least with the power out, the locks are off." He opened the hatch.

"Hell, yeah," Puck said, looking at the shelves inside the ammo locker.

"My thoughts exactly," Nowart agreed with a grin. "I feel like a frakking kid in candy store. Load up. We can always hand off to others."

"Yes, sir." Puck grabbed the boxes of them, and then began reloading his gun. Nowart did the same.

"Go easy on shooting these, okay?" Nowart said. "We've only got a limited supply until they can make more, and we might need them. Shoot for the head. Got it, Puckerman?"

"Got it, Sarge."

"Good. Let's go."

***

Darkness. Gun fire. Smoke. Flashlight beams piercing through it all, and the red lights of Centurion eyes. The stench of blood, of metal, of cold urine from where he wet himself and didn't even realize it. At the time- hell, anytime he was conscious- Puck swore he lived for it. That the fire was in his blood and that this was exactly what he wanted.

He never admitted, even to himself, that these were the things that haunted his nightmares.

***  
The Centurion's head exploded, and it stayed standing for a ludicrous moment before lurching forward and falling to the ground in a noisy clatter. Puck fell back against the wall, breathing hard, the metal of his gun hot in his hands, the silence almost deafening after the firefight.

"Nice one," Nowart said. He emerged from behind the crate and walked over, kicking the Cylon that Puck had taken down. The metal body didn't move. He kicked it again, harder. "Yup. This one's dead."

"Is that all of them, sir?" Puck asked.

"All of them that went this way, far as I can tell," Nowart said. He looked around. It was still dark, no power, and the sound of screaming was in the distance. Screaming, but no gunfire. Puck sank down the wall, and his legs finally started shaking.

"Holy shit," he said, trying to laugh.

Nowart looked at him. "You okay?"

"Holy shit," Puck repeated.

"You didn't do half-bad," Nowart allowed grudgingly. "Need to work more on your marksmanship."

"Frak that. I hit him, didn't I?"

"After gods know how many shots. Come on. Let's get up to CIC and see if we're needed elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?"

"We killed eight. Too small for a boarding party."

"Right." Puck struggled to his feet. He'd rested for two minutes, and he was ready to take on the world again. "What happens now, sir?"

Nowart glanced over at him. "You hurt?"

"Don't think so, sir." Puck was pretty sure that most of the blood on him wasn't his own.

Nowart shrugged. "Then let's go hunting and make sure they're all gone."

Puck grabbed his rifle and grinned.

***

They didn't find any more toasters, even after they swept the whole ship. Finally, Nowart told Puck he was dismissed.

"Dude!" Finn intercepted Puck on his way to the head to clean up. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Puck said with a cocky smile. "Took down two of those toasters myself." He held his hand for a high-five. Finn just stared at him for a long moment, leaving him hanging, and then suddenly grabbed him and hugged him tight.

"Hey, man," Puck said, a little alarmed. "I'm not _dead_ or something. Are you drunk?"

"I heard they lost eight Marines," Finn said, still not letting him go. "I just thought-"

"How'd they let you into the Fleet?" Puck asked, pushing Finn away. "You're such a wuss." But the words hit him hard. Eight Marines. _Eight._ Puck turned away before Finn could see his face.

"You okay?" Finn asked.

"Fine," Puck said.

He finally had remembered to wonder if Jaffee was one of them.

"Eight," Puck heard someone say while he was in the shower. "That means we're back down to thirty Marines, and six of the ones left are wet behind the ears kids."

"Shit. Plus there's the ones we left on Kobol. How long before we don't have any Marines left at all?"

Puck leaned back against the wall, the water pounding down on his bare chest and face and closed his eyes. Eight Marines were dead, and it just hit him that he knew them all.

Shit.

***

The sickbay was stark and clinical, and after a quick, assessing glance to make sure he wasn't bleeding out, no one paid Puck the slightest bit of mind. Too many other injuries, too much else going on. Seeing the people in here needing treatment made Puck realize just how bad those frakkers had torn up the ship.

Jaffee was in a bed, an IV hooked up to his arm. Puck approached cautiously, but as he did, Jaffee opened his eyes.

"You're going to be impossible, aren't you?"

"Huh?"

"I heard you took down two of them."

Puck grinned. "Yeah, I did."

"Great. As if a shoulder wound wasn't bad enough, I have to listen to your ass brag about it." Jaffee rolled his eyes. "This _sucks_."

"Yeah. So…" Puck shoved his hands in his pocket. "You're okay, man?"

"Cottle says I'll be back on my feet in a few days."

"Good. It would suck if you died before you got to take a couple out."

"No kidding." Jaffee sighed. "Next time, you don't get them all. Save some for me."

"I'll do that." Puck could see that Jaffee was fading. Logic told him the pain meds were knocking him out, but he couldn't help the tightening in his throat and the wetness in his eyes. "You get better, you hear me?"

Jaffee looked at him like he was nuts. "I will. It's just a shoulder wound, Puckerman."

Puck forced a smile and backed out of the infirmary. He had no idea why he felt the need to run.

***

He was doing a circuit of _Galactica_ on his own when he heard his name. "Puckerman."

"Yes, sir?" Puck said, surprised that Gunny Mathias was addressing him directly. She fell in step beside him as he ran.

"You're the one in that singing group," she said. "There are four of you on _Galactica_, am I right?"

"Yes, sir."

"It used to be that Marines got a decent funeral. With respect, with ceremony. I know we're down to the basics, but soldiers who die in combat deserve more than just to be shoved out the airlock with a few words."

"Yes, sir." Puck's throat tightened. "Is there… is there something that would normally be sung?"

"Find something appropriate," she ordered. "Non-denominational."

"Yes, sir."

She clapped him on the shoulder with a nod, and then jogged off. Puck pressed his lips together. It was just singing, but for some reason it felt like an honor he hadn't expected to deserve.

***

There wasn't a lot of time, so they ended up rehearsing while Puck had guard duty down in the brig. There was something of an irony there, given that he was guarding the former- current?- frak if he knew- President, and she was the one who had inadvertently gotten them this gig. Roslin lay on her cot and listened to them with closed eyes and a little smile playing on her lips.

"I don't like her being in there," Mercedes said when they were done. She was whispering, glancing back at Roslin to make sure she couldn't hear.

Santana shrugged. "She's in there. I don't see what the big deal is. She might be President of the Colonies, but the Colonies are like, fifty thousand people now. Less. Any idiot could do the job."

"That's not the point," Mercedes said. "It's a democracy. Locking up anyone who speaks against-"

"Whatever," Puck interrupted with a sigh. "This is my brig and, unless you two are going to settle this with a round of jello wrestling, we're done. Get out."

Mercedes rolled her eyes, but she and Santana took their argument out the door. That left Finn, who was standing with his hands shoved in his pockets. "What?" Puck asked. "You gonna turn this in to debate club, too?"

"No. I just… You okay, man?" Finn honestly looked worried. "I mean, I know you know all the Marines and everything."

"I'm fine," Puck insisted.

"And I know," Finn continued, like Puck hadn't even spoken, "that you haven't put your pictures on the Wall yet."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Puck demanded.

Finn shrugged. "Just… it seems to be what people do when they're ready to let people go."

"Dude. Are you seriously standing here in the brig arguing with me that I need to put my girlfriend's picture on the Memorial Wall to get that she's dead? I know she's dead, okay? And until you actually lose someone, you don't get to come in here and tell me how to deal with it. Got it?"

"Okay," Finn said, holding up his hands, and Puck realized that he was right in Finn's face. "I was just saying-"

"Yeah, well, don't."

"Got it."

"Yeah."

Finn clapped him on the shoulder. "See you at the funeral, right?"

"Right," Puck said, sinking back down to the desk. He heard the hatch shut behind Finn. Roslin must really be asleep; there was no way someone could fake it through an argument like that. Puck sat back in his chair, picking up a pen and doodling on a piece of paper in front of him. He began writing mindlessly, singing the words as he wrote.

_Just a few more hours, and I'll be right home to you.  
I think I hear them calling, oh Beth what can I do_

He stopped suddenly, glared at the words and then crumpled the paper and threw it into the wastebasket. Ridiculous.

***

The funeral was exactly what Puck expected. It wasn't the first time he'd sung at one, although last time the whole club had been there instead of just the four of them. He wondered if he should feel more, but he was completely numb inside. The eight caskets draped with Colonial flags didn't seem like they held people, and the whole ceremony was short and solemn. There was no applause after they finished, not that Puck expected it. People didn't clap at funerals.

No one was crying. That was kind of weird. Puck looked at the faces of the Marines; they were all poker stiff and straight. Dead. No, not dead. They were like masks. Puck remembered Nowart drinking alone in the racks, and he suddenly realized that these dead expressions were honor. You paid respects in public and cried alone. Puck was kind of surprised it didn't take effort for him not to cry, but maybe it was just because he had to sing.

Or maybe it was because when he thought of the darkness and the Cylons and the gunfire and the screams, all he could feel was anger.

But when he went bed that night, he stared at the pictures of Lauren and Beth for a long, long time, and the tears finally came.

***

"You look cheerful."

Puck looked up from his dinner, and the first thing that registered was that the speaker was wearing purple. Purple wasn't a color he saw a lot of on _Galactica_. He dragged his eyes upward, lingering on a few choice assets, until he saw the woman's face. It was the woman he'd tried to herd back into her quarters a few days ago, when they were jumping back to the Fleet. When he didn't speak immediately, she pulled out the chair and sat down across from him. She rested her chin on her hand and peered at him coyly. "I'm Ellen, by the way."

"Puck."

"Puck," Ellen drawled. "Bet that's not what your mother named you." She winked, taking his glass and running her fingers up and down it.

"Noah," he admitted, sitting back and far more interested in this conversation.

"Mmm. I can see why you prefer 'Puck'. So, what's got you sitting here, all alone and sad?"

There were a hundred answers to that question, but Puck knew enough about women and cougars that he knew she didn't give a shit. And maybe this was exactly what he needed. Yeah- maybe bagging this chick was _exactly_ what he needed to get his mojo back. So instead of taking her question seriously, he smirked and draped his arm across the back of his chair, giving her a good view of the guns. "It was just the lack of company, baby," he said. "But now that you're here, everything's looking up."

Her eyes lit up, and he grinned back. This was going to be _fun._

***

His back hit the shelves in the storage locker as he hiked up her skirt. Ellen kissed hot and messy, but _gods_, she knew exactly what she was doing. Her hand was down his pants as soon as the hatch clanged shut behind them, and before he knew it he had her legs wrapped around his waist and she was frakking him. His back was killing him from holding up her weight but he wasn't going to complain, especially not when she did some swirly thing and his eyes nearly rolled back into his head.

When it was over, they sat together on the floor, Puck still trying to get his breath back. It hit him that he just had _sex_, and he looked at the woman sitting next to him. There was absolutely no possible way he could make believe she was Lauren- hell, he hadn't even _thought_ of Lauren the entire time- but when he turned his head he was surprised to see blonde hair, not brown. Just for a second, but it hit him hard.

"Oh, no," Ellen said, looking annoyed. "You're not going to cry on me, are you?"

"What? No," Puck scoffed, blinking fast. "Course not. Why would I be crying?"

"Mmm." Ellen's eyes narrowed as she studied him. "You're a widower, aren't you?"

"Not legally," Puck admitted. "But I had a serious girlfriend."

"Pretty?"

"No. But hot. _Smoking_ hot."

Ellen smiled and pushed her hair off her face. "I believe it. Is this the first sex you've had since she died?"

"Yeah. So what about you?" Puck dared to ask. "Are you doing this to piss off your husband or something?"

Ellen froze, and then turned wide eyes on him. "I thought you didn't know who I was."

"I don't. But I can tell you're married. Believe me, I've frakked enough married chicks to know."

She laughed at that one- flat out laughed. "You're a surprise," she admitted. Puck shrugged, and Ellen sighed, thunking her head back against the shelves. "You have no idea," she said, her voice low and sultry, "what it is like being a military wife. All the stress, all the worrying… and my husband is too much of a frakking idiot to move up the rank ladder when he's got the chance. He's content just to sit on his ass, letting other people command."

Puck couldn't help grinning at that. "Yeah, well, you can't just move up the ladder so easily in the military," he explained. "There's a lot of… I don't know… _shit_ you have to go through." Ellen treated him to a flat glare. "What?" Puck asked. "I know what I'm talking about."

"You've been in the military three weeks and you're trying to explain it to _me?_ I've been married for seven years!" Puck flushed, but Ellen patted his knee. "You're as bad as any of them," she sighed. "Convinced that someone who doesn't wear the uniform can't understand what it's like. It's not this holy, mystical, mysterious world, you know. It's just the military."

"Yeah?"

Ellen snorted. "For all that they go on about heart and soul and once a soldier always a soldier, it really is just another job. There are office politics and people cock-blocking you and games you have to play and petty reasons people don't get promotions, and anyone who doesn't see that is just fooling themselves." She studied him. "You don't believe me."

"Hard to believe you when you're on the bottom," Puck said.

Surprisingly, Ellen looked sympathetic. "Jarheads are the worst, too. Why'd you join?"

"To kill Cylons. Why else?"

"You don't tell them that, do you?"

"What else am I supposed to say?"

Ellen rolled her eyes, like she thought he was a complete idiot. "That you wanted to serve the Colonies. That you needed something bigger than yourself. All that bullshit about heart and soul and once a soldier always a soldier."

"But-"

"Look. Sweetie. You and I see the truth, okay? This is a different world, and the Colonial Fleet's got a different purpose. The rules have changed. It's not all about honor and love anymore, it's about exactly what you said. Fighting. Killing Cylons. But the old diehards like Bill and Saul and most of the jarheads? They don't get that, and they're not going to. They're holding on to their image of the Fleet because it's all they have left. Pathetic, but sadly true."

"Yeah," Puck said, looking down at his feet. He still had his boots on, he noticed. Boots like he never wore in high school. And the dog tags were still around his neck. He fingered one. "Yeah," he repeated, trying to sound more confident.

"There isn't much left in the world, but there still _is_ a world left, and there's no reason to lose sight of that," Ellen said, standing up and straightening her skirt. Puck took the hint and stood up, tucking himself back into his pants and doing the fly. "If you're going to get somewhere in what's left, you can't be clinging to what used to be," Ellen said. She grabbed him by the tanks, pulled him in and kissed him hard. Puck wondered if he should have bothered to do up his fly, but she squirmed out of his embrace. "See you later, Puck," she said, winking at him as she left.

_Damn._ Not what he'd been expecting, but Puck felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders in some way. It wasn't that he agreed with everything Ellen said- chick was kind of cold when you thought about it- but still. Something clicked.

He headed out of the storage locker, whistling as he went.

***

The press conference was being broadcast on the PA system. They were supposed to be cleaning the weapons, but all of the recruits were listening to Tigh's voice with very little pretense at work. For that matter, so was Sergeant Nowart.

"The events which took place aboard _Colonial One_ are unfortunate," Tigh said. "Laura Roslin's actions in suborning mutiny and sedition among the military could not be tolerated. Therefore, Commander Adama was left with no choice other than to remove her from office. Ms. Roslin is now resting comfortably aboard this ship, where she will remain until such time as the commander deems otherwise."

"That man cannot give a speech to save his life," Peters muttered. "It sounds like he's reading off cue cards."

"He's probably drunk," Sykes said. "I heard-"

"Shut up," Nowart ordered, although Puck wasn't sure if he was saying it because Tigh was CO, or because the press reaction was dying down, which meant Tigh was about to speak again.

"As it appears obvious that the government cannot function under the current circumstances, I have decided to dissolve the Quorum of Twelve. And as of this moment, I have declared martial law."

"_Martial law?_" Peters asked, her eyes wide.

Nowart clicked his gun together. "Get 'em done," he said, gesturing to the weapons. "Gunny Mathias is going to want us in the ready room immediately."

***

"Nothing changes," Mathias told them all as they met in the ready room. "Nothing changes. You still follow orders. If I hear about anyone exploiting the situation, there will be hell to pay. You all have superiors, and you will not act without a direct order. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!" All in unison, from recruit to sergeant.

"Good. Nothing changes. Now get out of here."

***

"We're sending squads to each civilian ship that's refusing to cooperate," Mathias explained. "The objective is to get in, get the supplies, get out, and not have anyone on either side get hurt. Maintain order and get the supplies over here. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!"

Mathias began breaking them off into groups, but before she could get to Puck, Nowart inclined his head. "Puckerman. You're coming with me."

"Yes, sir."

The whole Raptor ride over, Puck sat with his gun clenched in his hands. Nowart sat next to him, silent and looking as nervous as Puck felt. He told himself not to be nervous; he'd already faced down Centurions. These were just people. But the tight feeling in the pit of his stomach wouldn't go away, and when he glanced at Nowart out of the corner of his eye, he could see the tendons in his neck straining. He wondered if you ever stopped feeling nervous.

The Raptor docked aboard the _Gideon_, and when the airlock hatch opened they jumped out of the Raptor. Puck followed Nowart, the bright lights of the _Gideon_ deck blinding him for a moment. But when he blinked, he could see the people. A whole hoard of people, standing on the deck and on the catwalks and on the stairs, shouting. It was a frakking riot.

Their voices echoed off the metallic walls, becoming a deafening roar that only increased in volume as the Marines moved to try to get to the supplies intended for the _Galactica_. Puck remembered something Coach Sylvester had said a long time ago, back in his sophomore year about there not being much difference between an angry mob and a crowd of screaming fans. She was wrong. She was so frakking wrong. Puck could now say he'd been in the middle of both, and yeah, there was a _hell_ of a lot of difference.

The crowd was pressing closer. Puck's breathing picked up and he felt that same terror he'd felt in the dark, with the Centurions shooting at them. _They're not Cylons. They're just people. Just people. Underwear. Think of them all in their underwear._ Normally it was a surefire trick, but right now, it didn't work. His mind stuttered over the images, and all he could see was the people closing in.

It started then; people throwing things, people attacking. They were really frakking _attacking_. The Marines had guns, but the civilians were throwing things, shoving, _punching._ Normally, that wouldn't bother Puck, because how much damage could you do with fists? But with this many people, the answer was a lot. One punch landed across Puck's face, knocking him to the side, and another landed in his ribs. It wasn't well-delivered, but it hit the spot by sheer luck and it hurt.

Sometime around then, Nowart went down.

It wasn't even that he went down. It was that he was pulled down and swarmed, with feet stamping and shouting. Nowart was struggling to get back on his feet, but every time he trjed he couldn't do it. It was just too overwhelming. Puck tried to push people away, but they were coming from too many directions.

No one cried out. No one told him what to do. The pilot who was in charge was pale and scared and wasn't saying a word. If Puck didn't do something, Nowart would die.

Ellen said it was a job, nothing more. No brothership, no heart, no soul. It came on him in a flash; Ellen was wrong. That's exactly what the Marines were; what they were meant to be. No man left behind. Look out for your brother. With that in mind, Puck raised his rifle and fired.

He meant to just fire into air, to scare the crowd with the noise. But a man jerked back, shot through the shoulder. It hit Puck like a sledge hammer. He'd shot a man, and an unarmed man at that. All for another Marine. He should be staring at his rifle in shock, but instead he was bringing it back up to his shoulder, ready to fire again. Other shots rang out as well, and people started to scream.

"Cease fire!" The words came to him like they were traveling through water. "Cease fire! They're civilians! CEASE FIRE!"

_Cease fire._ An order. Puck's body responded before his mind did, and his arms pulled the gun down to his side. He didn't even look at the crowd, but down at Nowart, who was lying on the ground groaning in pain. Puck shoved through, bodily moving aside civilians until he could reach down and pull Nowart to his feet.

"You okay?"

"Frakking ribs," Nowart said, hissing in pain. "Who told you to shoot?"

"I-"

"Did someone give the order to shoot?"

"No one gave any order, sir." _Shit._ The civilians were still backing off, still terrified. "They were attacking us and no one said a damn thing."

"Stupid pilots." Nowart tried to straighten and bent back down again, grabbing at his side. "Think they know everything, but…"

"Come on," Puck said, pulling Nowart's arm around his shoulders, "let's get you to sickbay."

Nowart looked around, and Puck was suddenly aware of the other damage. There were civilians that were- _oh gods,_- there were civilians that were _dead._ The screaming took on a new tenor, but something in it left Puck cold.

He'd shot. He didn't know if he'd killed one of those people, and he was a little surprised to find he didn't care. Because that's what happened when you asked for a fight. He pushed the guilt away. These were the frakkers who wanted them to fight for them, but weren't going to pick up a gun themselves. Puck pulled Nowart up higher and settled his arm more firmly around his shoulders and headed for the Raptor.

And if there was a part of him that want to look back, that wanted to scream in horror, he told it to shut the frak up.

***

He was sitting outside the infirmary, turning the picture of Beth over in his hands, waiting. There were bodies under sheets and the low, anxious voices that people used around the dead. They hovered on the edge of his awareness as he stared at the baby in the photograph.

"That your daughter?"

Puck looked up to see Nowart standing over him. "Hey. Yeah, it is. How are the ribs?"

"Cracked. But no punctured lung." Nowart eased himself down onto the bench beside Puck and looked at the picture. "She was just a baby?"

"No. She was two." Puck frowned. "I knocked her mom up sophomore year. We couldn't handle it- _she_ couldn't handle it- so she gave Beth up. Guess it was better that way, but…" Puck shrugged and put the picture back in his pocket. "Doesn't matter anymore anyway. She's dead."

"Yeah." Nowart fiddled with his fingers and looked at him. "How you doing with the whole thing?"

Puck shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

"Doesn't surprise me."

Puck glared at him suspiciously. "This isn't one of those 'you're like me at your age' speeches, is it?" he asked. He ignored the little voice of hope that said maybe he wanted it to be.

Nowart made a face. "No," he said. "You don't remind me of myself at all. You remind me of the guys who used to toss me in the dumpster when I was in high school."

Puck's mouth fell open. "How the hell did you know that?"

"I didn't," Nowart said. "You did that for real? That exact thing?"

"It felt like the gods were laughing their asses off when you did it to me," Puck said. He rubbed his palms along his knees. "Guess they do get you."

Nowart huffed a laugh and then winced in pain again. "Well then. Guess it all worked out in a weird sort of way." He studied the floor. "You know," he said, his voice lower, "they're going to ask who fired the first shot."

_Shit._ "Yeah. I know."

"Too bad I was on the floor having the shit kicked out of me. I should have had some idea who did it, but it was kind of hard to see with all those people swarming me, you know?"

It took Puck a second to see what Nowart was saying, but when he got it, it shot right through him.

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Thanks for what? I didn't ask to get the shit kicked out of me." Nowart got to his feet. "See you around, Puck." _Puck._ Puck wanted to grin, but he didn't, because that wasn't what you did at times like this. He just sat back on the bench.

"Yeah. See you around."

***

"Private Puckerman," Finn said, holding up his glass.

"Don't forget we outrank your ass," Santana said, clinking her glass against Finn's, and trying to punch Puck on the arm, which he narrowly avoided.

"Don't," he said. "It still hurts."

"Let's see it," Mercedes said from her perch on his rack. "Come on. Show off your new ink."

Puck shrugged off his BDU jacket, showing off the new tattoo on his bicep. It wasn't as nice as the ones the other marines sported, but damn it, he didn't give a frak.

"Nowart put it there?" Finn asked.

"Awww," Mercedes teased as Puck blushed. "You're acting like you have a crush."

"Don't make me come up there and kick your ass." Ellen had said the same thing. Not that anyone knew about Ellen. Puck had finally found out exactly what her last name was, and he wasn't about to tell anyone he was nailing the XO's wife on occasion. "It's not a crush. It's mutual respect."

"Whatever," Santana said. "Let's get drunk."

"I don't often agree with Santana, but when she has good ideas, she has good ideas," Mercedes agreed. "Let's get drunk."

He was smiling when he collapsed in his rack later, pleasantly drunk, the new tattoo on his arm still a dull burn. For the first time since he'd gotten on _Galactica_, he felt like he was home. Because it _was_, and he was a frakking Marine now. Semper Fi and all that.

But there was one thing he still had to do.

***

"You sure you want to do this, man?" Finn asked.

"Yeah. It's a _Galactica_ thing, you know?" Puck said. They stood together in the Memorial hallway, looking at all the faces. "Where do you think I should put her?"

"Uh…." Finn looked down the hall. "I have no idea." He frowned. "Should we have Mercedes and Santana here, too?"

Puck shook his head. "Nah. I would have done it alone if I-" _could_. He cut himself off abruptly. Lauren deserved better than that. He walked down the hall and found the spot of the picture with the two guys he didn't know. They were at least their age, and Lauren would probably think they were kind of cute. He tacked her picture beside them.

"Should we say something?" Finn asked. "Sing something?"

"Nope," Puck said. He touched Lauren's face, but it was just paper. Not her. He pulled his hand away reluctantly and said a little prayer he'd never admit to, then stepped back.

"Looks good," Finn said, when Puck didn't say anything. Puck nodded. "What about… what about your mom? Or Sarah?"

"Don't have pictures of them," Puck said.

"You could do a note," Finn said, pointing at one that someone else had done.

"Yeah. I could. I will."

Finn hesitated. "What about Beth?"

"You think I've even got any memories of her I can put up?" Puck snapped.

For a long moment, Finn didn't say anything. Then he put his hand on Puck's shoulder. "You ready?" he asked.

Puck wiped at his eyes. "Yeah," he said, surprised at how rough his voice was. "I'm ready."

Finn looked at Lauren's picture one more time. "She's at peace," he said awkwardly. "She's at rest."

"Like she ever wanted to be," Puck said grumpily, but he clapped his hand over Finn's. "Thanks."

"No problem." Finn hesitated again. "And if you ever want to do Beth-"

"I don't," Puck cut him off. "Leave it, okay?"

"Okay."

"Come on. Let's go." Puck gestured with his head, and they left the Memorial Hall.


	4. What's the Frequency, Kenneth?

The control room in the _Cybele_ was really starting to feel like home. It wasn't a big one, not like some of the other ships, but there was enough room to maneuver a wheelchair through. It was a clunky looking room, with an island in the center. The radio was mercifully low enough that Artie could get to it with ease, and one of these days someone was finally going to teach him all the steps for an FTL jump. If the worlds were going to end, he was going to get at least one dream filled, damn it.

"Good morning, Artie," Captain Xu said, smiling at him from her post. "What's on your agenda for the day?"

"I've got to go over to _Cloud 9_. Meeting." It still felt weird to say he had a _meeting._ Meetings were something his parents did. But it was kind of cool.

"Tough life, huh?" Captain Xu teased him.

"Can't complain," Artie said. "Anything new come in overnight?" he asked as he began swiveling the dial on the comm unit.

"Nothing interesting. The _Gemenon Traveler_ is sending out some paper, and the meat comes in from the _Kimba Hita_ today."

"No Cylons?"

"No Cylons. Been a few days since that boarding party hit _Galactica_." Captain Xu sighed. "Wish I could believe we're rid of them."

"Yeah. No chance of that happening," Artie said. He picked up the clipboard and Captain Xu turned back to her own work as he began going through the call log. There were the advertised messages about meat and paper, but also a slightly more interesting one concerning a meeting about organizing a protest to have the Vice President lead the government while Roslin was in prison. There was another bulletin from _Galactica_ re-emphasizing that Laura Roslin and Lee Adama were fugitives, and that if spotted, the _Galactica_ should be contacted immediately. Artie bit his lip at that one, pushing his glasses back up his nose as he stated at the neatly typed words.

He checked his watch. Four-fifty. Say what you would about _Galactica_, they ran on a schedule. Artie grinned and slipped on the headphones, turning the wireless to the right channel.

"_Galactica_, this is _Cybele_."

"Right on time, _Cybele_." Mercedes' voice was distorted with the static, but it still sounded enough like her. Artie smiled to hear it, just like he did every morning at this time. "How have you been?"

"Good. Can't really complain." He glanced over at Captain Xu, but she either wasn't listening or didn't care. "How's life over there?"

"Puck's still insufferable," Mercedes said. "If he makes me call him Private Puckerman, Cylon Slayer one more time, I swear I'm going to punch his Marine ass."

"It does have a nice ring to it," Artie said wistfully.

"Yeah, but the way he talks, you'd think no one ever survived a battle before."

"I think I'd be the same way after taking down a couple of Cylons." Artie wasn't a little jealous that Puck had that opportunity. Not at all. No.

Mercedes heard it. "Don't let him fool you. Most of the time he's sitting on his ass doing guard duty or doing drills. It's not like he's single-handedly saving the world."

"Right." Artie sighed. "Any word on the Commander's recovery?"

"Dualla says he should be coming back in a day or two," Mercedes said. "Until then, we've still got Colonel Tigh. But you heard the Cylon was shot, right?"

"Yeah." Artie tried to sound casual, but he shivered. The fact that a Cylon could look enough like a human to be in the military for _two years_ and then gun down the Commander was absolutely frightening, although he wasn't going to say that out loud. But he was glad someone had shot the thing.

"Hey," Mercedes said, "is it true that more people are accusing each other of being Cylons since they found out there was another one on _Galactica_?"

"Don't know about other ships, but Coach Sylvester nearly had Mr. Schuester out the airlock again two days ago, until Dr. O'Neill stepped in. But now that I think about it, I'm not sure she even tried to convince anyone he was a Cylon. I think it had to do with his hair. But some people thought that's what she was doing."

"Sounds exciting."

"It would be if she hadn't done it four times before this. I think Dr. O'Neill is getting bored." He smiled as Mercedes laughed, and then remembered the other thing he meant to tell her. "Oh, and in other news, Sam has a girlfriend."

"Really?" Mercedes and Sam had dated briefly, but their breakup had easily been the most drama-free breakup New Directions had ever seen, and they just seemed to be even better friends since. "Who's he seeing?"

"A girl he met over on the _Daru Mozu_. Her name's Rya."

"Good for him." Mercedes sounded genuinely happy for him.

"Mercedes?" Artie began, wishing he didn't sound so damned tentative.

"Mm?"

"Have they found the Pres- Ms. Roslin?"

There was a short, heavy silence on the other end, and then Mercedes said, "I have a call coming in on another channel."

"Mercedes, I-"

"I'll talk to you about this later, Artie. But I really do have duty." And just like that, she cut off. Artie sighed and pulled the headphones off.

"Are you okay?" Captain Xu asked him.

"Fine," Artie said, with what he hoped was a bright smile and knew probably wasn't. Of all the people in New Directions, Mercedes was the one he really wanted to talk to about Roslin and what was going on. What Roslin had _said_, about being the dying leader that the Pythian prophecies said would lead the people to Earth. Mercedes _knew_ the Scrolls, and she'd be able to explain her beliefs to him a lot better than anyone else, without looking down on him for the lack of scriptural knowledge that any Gemenese person was supposed to have. This was the first time he'd had the guts to ask, and Mercedes hadn't been able to answer. Or hadn't wanted to answer - he had no idea if she'd cut him off or really did have to get back to work.

"Captian Xu?"

"Yes, Artie?"

"Everyone says that Roslin-"

"President Roslin, Artie."

"President Roslin must be on the move, so the _Galactica_ can't find her. What should I do if she contacts us?"

Captain Xu looked up eagerly. "Has she?" she asked, leaning forward.

"No. No, not that I know of."

"Oh." Captain Xu looked a little disappointed. "Well, if she contacts us, you tell her that the _Cybele_ is at her service, Artie. Whatever we can do to help the President, we _will_ do it."

Artie nodded and looked back down at his notes. It _was_ a theoretical case, and the odds of it happening were probably pretty slim. The _Cybele_ didn't strike him as a ship with a lot of good hiding places- it was too crowded and too small, and traffic in and out would be easy to monitor. But what he'd really wanted to know was what Captain _Xu_ would say.

What he really wanted to know was what _he_ would say. He looked at the wireless. What if Roslin called up right now? What _would_ he say? "Sorry, ma'am, I really like you and I think you're a good President, but I can't put this ship at risk"? "Do you _really_ think you're the dying leader?" "Please, come aboard, I might secretly think you're a lunatic but everyone else on board thinks you're right"? The truth was, he had no idea. He'd probably tell her to come on board, just because that's what Captain Xu told him to say. _Great_ reason. But then, saying no would be turning the rightful President of the Colonies over to the military, and Artie wasn't sure he liked that idea, either.

Fortunately, the wireless remained quiet, and no former or current Presidents hailed him, pleading for sanctuary from a military that was a crazed mess after a Cylon infiltrator had put two slugs in the Commander's chest. The day continued as normal.

He turned back to his clipboard, looking at the schedule he'd put together for himself for the day. He had the _Cloud 9_ trip, which would be a lot of dealing with people and then having adults try to explain to him how to install systems until they finally caught on that he knew his way around a radio better than a lot of them did. He flipped a page and a slip of paper caught his eye. He didn't remember it being there last night, but he definitely recognized the handwriting.

_A.A-_

I need to talk to you. Cloud 9_, the Starlight Lounge, 7:00 tonight. And please, I'm begging you, don't wear a sweater vest._

-K.H.

Really, Artie thought with a sigh, why bother with just initials if Kurt was going to be so obvious about exactly who he was? And what was so important that Kurt had to meet with him at the Starlight Lounge, instead of just talking about it back here on the _Cybele_, and that Kurt would leave a note instead of just saying 'hey, meet me wherever'?

It was a mystery, but at the same time, it was an interesting one. The day might actually be looking up.

***

"How many kids are we expecting today?" Mike asked Tina as he spread peanut butter on his toast.

"The same number as always," Tina said. "Why would it be different?"

Mike shrugged. "Some of the parents don't seem to want their kids out of reach with the whole martial law thing."

"That's kind of ridiculous, isn't it?" Artie asked, stirring his oatmeal. "I mean, I know that there was the _Gideon_, but the soldiers aren't just wandering on the ships shooting people."

"Well, no one expected them to actually shoot on the _Gideon_, either," Tina pointed out. She sighed. "I wish the _Galactica_ would just acknowledge President Roslin when Adama's back in command."

"You know that won't happen," Artie said. "He's the one who took her out in the first place."

"For what, though?" Tina said. "All they ever said was 'an abuse of power' and interfering with the military. And after what they did on the _Gideon_, maybe the military needs to be interfered with."

Artie opened his mouth to answer, but then realized that Tina was right. They _didn't_ know what Roslin had done. All they had was the speech Adama had given and a lot of "no comments" and "classifieds." Strange how the military held such authority he'd never even thought to ask that before.

Quinn approached their table. "Artie." She had her arms crossed and her best _now_ glare in place. Artie leaned back away from her.

"What did I do wrong?"

"It's been fifty-six days."

"Oh." Of course. He sighed. "Let me finish my breakfast first."

"Fifty-six days?" Mike asked, looking from one to the other. "You guys aren't…"

"You're not pregnant again, are you?" Tina asked suspiciously.

"Hardly," Quinn snapped. "Like that would happen."

"Hey. No need to sound like it's that impossible," Artie said, offended. "I am sitting right here."

"Sorry," Quinn said, but she didn't smile. Artie didn't really blame her. "It's been fifty-six days since we both last gave blood."

"Oh." Mike shrugged.

Quinn narrowed her eyes. "Have you given blood since the attacks?"

"Well, sure."

"Since right after?"

Mike looked guilty. "No. But I keep meaning to, and they said we have to space it out, and…" he deflated under Quinn's icy glare. "I will," he said in a small voice.

"At least you have a choice," Artie muttered.

Tina looked shocked. "Wait. You don't?"

Artie shrugged. "We're both type O. It's required for us."

"Why just type O?" Tina asked.

"Type O is a universal donor," Quinn explained. "That way they don't have to use a ton of storage to have reserves."

Artie gave up on the last remnants of his breakfast. "All right," he said. "Let's go." Quinn was immediately on her feet, swinging behind him and taking control of his wheelchair. Artie fixed Tina and Mike with a glare. "You guys should give, too," he said darkly. "If nothing else, just so I have company in this."

"You do have company," Quinn reminded him as she rolled him away. "Me."

"Right." _Because you'll even speak to me during the whole thing_, Artie thought sourly.

It wasn't that he minded giving blood. In fact, left to his own devices, he would have been first in line. He was all too aware that it was only because other people gave blood that he hadn't died during the hours after the crash when he was a kid. He could never pay back those exact people, but he could pay back the world in general. The gods in general? He rubbed his forehead, well aware that if he followed this line of thought, a headache was more than likely to set in.

When they got down to the infirmary, Simon was waiting for them. He had blood packs at the ready, and patted the table. "Up you go," he said, and then moved to help Artie up onto a table. "You ready for this?"

"Does it matter?" Artie asked glumly. "It's not like I have a choice."

"Well, technically you do, but your choice involves jail time," Simon said, sounding a little too cheerful. Artie lay down on the table, and Simon stepped back to let Quinn come in and start swabbing his arm clean.

"I know. And it's not like I wouldn't do it," Artie explained. "I just don't like being told to. It makes me feel like a giant incubator or petri dish or something."

Simon laughed a little. "It's just a pint of blood."

"Yes. But it's _my_ blood." Artie frowned, looking away as Quinn tied the restricting band around his bicep and started feeling for the vein. "Who made the rule, anyway? The Commander or the President?"

"Which came first, the chicken or the egg?" Simon asked. "I think the order came first from the _Galactica_, but the President agreed to it. Does it matter?"

"It matters when they say that the people aren't getting representation," Quinn said, picking up a needle. Artie stared at her, because this wasn't the Quinn Fabray that was the head cheerleader. This was the angry pregnant girl, upset with the world. She caught him staring and lifted her chin. "I don't exactly like the idea of the military treating me like a farm," she said defiantly.

"Preach." Artie winced as Quinn put the needle into his arm. To her credit, she got it on the first try, and as he relaxed, his blood started filling the bag. Quinn made a face and then hoisted herself up on the other table.

"Well, what are you going to do?" Simon asked rhetorically, cleaning Quinn's arm. "When it's not a real democracy- when everyone doesn't have a vote- abuses of power and taking advantage of the weaker will happen."

"Wait! That's it!" Quinn started to sit up, but Simon grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her back down. Quinn obeyed, but her eyes were still sharp and intense. "We could withhold the blood from this collection until democracy has been restored."

"Quinn, they shot people on the _Gideon_ for holding back _coffee_!" Artie protested. "What do you think they'll do to us if we hold back blood?" The idea was _cold._ He knew Quinn was capable of a lot, but this surprised him.

Quinn twisted on her bed to look at him. "Are you _afraid_, Artie?"

"Well, _yes_. What part of 'they shot people over coffee' isn't getting through to you?"

"Which was a disaster. They've issued statements to that effect." Quinn's eyes narrowed calculatingly. "I thought you always wanted to be a badass. Like Puck."

"And if we hold back the blood, Puck could be one of the people that dies."

"That's not all that likely."

"I know." Artie sighed.

"Do you really believe in martial law?"

"Do you really believe that much in democracy?" Artie shot back. "Because back in Lima, I seem to remember you preferring McKinley in something of a totalitarian state. At least as long as you were on top."

"Do you two talk like this all the time?" Simon asked. He'd been watching their argument, looking back and forth between them. "Because I thought high school students weren't supposed to care this much."

"In case you've missed it, we're not high school students anymore," Quinn said bitterly. "And I care. It's not just survival. It's survival of the _soul._ You know what Laura Roslin is."

"I know her true nature, yes," Simon said evenly.

"Well? We hold back the blood, call the other ships in on it, and Adama will have no choice but to reinstate Roslin."

"Quinn," Simon said with a sigh, "I appreciate your feelings on this. But you're forgetting one thing: the blood supply is in the hand of doctors. And while some of them may agree with you about Roslin, a lot of them will not withhold medical supplies in a time of crisis. They may refuse to send the blood over now, but Adama and Tigh will know that they'll cave in a time of crisis. _Do no harm._"

"When the stakes are this high, sometimes you have to cause a little harm to serve a greater good. Besides, isn't _their_ oath to protect the people of the Colonies?" She had a point. But the idea of going up against the military like that, that sort of confrontation…. He hadn't been on the _Gideon_, but Artie had a pretty vivid imagination. It definitely wasn't something he wanted on the _Cybele_. "We can't just sit by anymore. Not when so much is at stake," Quinn insisted. She narrowed her eyes and sat up. "Don't stick that needle in me," she ordered. She came over and stood over Artie. "Are you with me?"

"Quinn, I…."

"Are you with me?"

Quinn Fabray was standing over him as he lay on a medical table, a host of scalpels, needles, and other pointy metal things at her disposal. And she looked very, very capable of using them. Artie swallowed hard. "Sure," he said. "I'm with you."

"It's not right, Quinn," Simon said as Quinn removed the needle from Artie's arm.

"You're right. But what they're doing isn't right either," Quinn said. "And we're going to make them understand that." Her jaw was set and her eyes were icy, and Artie was suddenly very, very glad he'd agreed to her demands, even if withholding blood didn't feel entirely right to him, either. But with the look on Quinn's face, _he_ wasn't going to say that.

***

Withholding blood. It seemed like a small thing, and at the same time, it didn't. The chances weren't high that someone was going to die, but the simple fact was that someone _could_ die. And when someone died, it wouldn't be Commander Adama or Colonel Tigh. It would be a private like Puck, or a Raptor pilot, or a deckhand who got caught in an accident. Someone who might not agree with martial law. Someone like Mercedes, who even though she wouldn't talk about it, Artie _knew_ she truly believed in Roslin and hated what was happening.

Puck always said he chickened out too much to be a badass. It bugged the hell out of Artie when Puck said things like that, even if he secretly suspected that Puck was right. It wasn't who he wanted to be.

Of course, right now he wasn't sure who he did want to be, or who he agreed with. Everything was a jumble of martial law and prophecies, ethics and questions and standards. And it didn't matter anyway, because none of it was in his hands. Just as well. But it was still heavy on his mind as he made his way to the docking bay. When he got there, Rachel was standing with a notebook and a pen tucked against her body, wearing a plaid skirt, knee high socks, and a sweater. The notebook had kittens on the front.

"You know," he said, taking in her outfit, "there really is something to dressing the part."

"I know," Rachel said, not getting the point at all. "And I am trying to convey youthful innocence, hope, and optimism in a dark and trying time."

"You think that's what people want to hear right now?" Artie asked doubtfully.

"Of course," Rachel insisted. "It makes them feel happy. Content."

"Which is why you've gotten so many assignments."

"I've been given stories," Rachel said primly. "That piece I did about the flowers on the _Zephyr_ got excellent ratings."

"Because those are _poppies_, Rachel," Artie said dryly, staring at her. "They can be used to make opium."

Rachel straightened up and stepped onto the shuttle with as much dignity as she could muster. "You can take a pessimistic view, but I prefer to think of it as what will be my first break into post-apocalyptic journalism. When I write my memoirs, I'll certainly be mentioning it."

"Rachel…."

"What?"

Artie thought about arguing that publishing wasn't exactly a booming business and that there may never be a day to write memoirs, but then sighed and decided it was pointless. Besides, who knew what Earth would be like? The thought kind if startled him, really. That Rachel could write memoirs on _Earth._

"Rachel?" Artie asked, once they were in the shuttle. "What do you think Earth is going to be like?"

Rachel blinked. "I… I don't know," she said. "I hadn't really thought about it, I guess."

"Why not? That's where we're going."

"I don't know. Do you really think we'll find it?"

"The Pythian prophecy-"

"One of my dads believed that Pythia was a prophet," Rachel interrupted. "Well, he followed Zeus, anyway. But Papa followed Mithras, and he was the one that took me to services. Pythia didn't exactly figure in."

"So you aren't exactly buying into the whole Dying Leader thing?" Artie asked.

"I appreciate the drama of her announcement, and I concede that appealing to the faith of people is an effective way to get their attention and sympathy."

"So… that's a no, then?"

"It could be true, I guess. It would be like in _Rueful Dynasty_, when Mia Kopolos's character had visions of the future." Rachel warmed to her subject. "In fact, if Ms. Roslin wanted, I could discuss those particular passages with her. The emotion that Mia used to convey her divinity would be very useful to the President in convincing people that she truly is the Dying Leader. If she really is," she added hastily. "You know, there's this beautiful solo, too. One that's exactly in my range…."

Was there a reason he'd even asked Rachel about this whole thing? Had he honestly expected an answer he could make sense of? Artie rolled his eyes and looked out the window of the shuttle.

"You know," Rachel continued, sighing wistfully, "it's such a shame we had to give up the idea of the television show. Have you _seen_ some of what passes for entertainment?"

Artie had. There were two shows being put on. The writing was pretty bad and the acting anywhere from reasonable to absolutely horrendous, and they had all the production values of a McKinley production. "I'm surprised you haven't tried out for a part," he said.

Rachel flushed, but then tossed her hair over her shoulder. "So far there haven't been any parts that have been appropriate for my age and appearance," she said. "All of my extensive talent is useless when the director specifies he's looking for a large man. Although I did suggest the part be rewritten to better utilize his resources. He refused."

"Imagine that."

"Besides, it's not the same without New Directions," Rachel continued, ignoring Artie's sarcasm. "There's something special about the entire team."

"That's… awfully nice of you."

"You're all the perfect complement to my voice."

"Right." But he couldn't be mad- not really. After three years of glee, you just got used to Rachel. In a way, it was kind of a relief Rachel was still so focused on her talent and ambition. It was a constant in a world gone mad. Although when Rachel Berry was your touchstone for sanity, it was a sure sign that the world was at an end.

***

The concept of a broadcasting station had started back as early as a few days after the Fleet was formed. It made sense to base it from a luxury liner, as those ships already had a system in place for entertaining guests. The first one had been based on the _Zephyr_, but someone pointed out the cheerful fact that any ship could be blown up at any time, and stations had also been started on _Cloud 9_ and the _Pyxis_. But the systems had only been configured to broadcast within each ship. Expanding the range to the other ships was not a one-step task.

Artie had been active in the AV club back in Lima, and his father, an electrical engineer, had enthusiastically encouraged his interest. He'd been planning on going to college on Virgon and getting a degree in electrical engineering or game engineering himself. It had been an extremely depressing day the day he realized that, if the Cylons had never attacked, he'd be leaving for Virgon and starting at VTI.

But there hadn't been time to be depressed for more than the day, because Artie had work to do. A _lot_ of work to do. So much that he supposed he should feel a little guilty that the worlds had ended and he found himself not only being useful, but doing work he _liked_, but he just couldn't summon any guilt up. As far as he was concerned, the universe owed him one, and this was a hell of a lot more believable than a hot girl landing in his lap again. He was useful- hell, he was actually kind of _important_- and he was connected to the Fleet. He was often the first to find things out, like when Adama was shot and that they'd found another Cylon, and there was something kind of awesome about that.

He couldn't help but be jealous on the rare occasions he saw Puck. If life had been different… well, if life had been different he wouldn't be here in the first place, because the attacks never would have happened. But they had, and if his life had been different, he could be out there, getting revenge for what he'd lost, protecting the people he cared about. But that was only when he was actually with Puck. When he wasn't, he forgot about dreams that weren't ever going to happen anyway and focused on what he could do, which was a _lot_. Although, damn, it would be nice to be a real hero.

But not everyone could be a hero. Hell, he couldn't even stand up to Quinn and tell her he was uncomfortable with the idea of withholding blood, although he couldn't articulate why he couldn't tell her that. But at the same time, not everyone could fix a wireless. Artie figured he'd better focus on what he could do rather than what he couldn't.

***

The Starlight Lounge was exactly the kind of place Kurt would want to meet someone. Artie rolled in, looking around. It was high class, with a well-stocked bar, fancy tables, and lighting that made the place seem full of possibilities. It looked rich, cultured, and just a little trashy all at the same time. Pure Kurt. Artie was half surprised that Kurt wasn't sitting on one of the high stools, legs crossed as he sipped some martini type drink.

Instead, Kurt was sitting in a booth, appearing a little uncomfortable as he fidgeted with the menu. He looked up when Artie approached and smiled, but his smile was off. "Are you all right?" Artie asked, instead of saying hello.

"What? Oh, of course." Kurt laughed a little; a high, thin laugh that made it clear he was lying. "Thanks for meeting me."

"I couldn't resist," Artie said. "I have to know- what's with all the secrecy?"

"Secrecy?"

"The note, the initials, meeting on _Cloud 9_ instead of on the _Cybele_… you did realize you were being secretive, right?"

"I, er… right." Kurt shook himself and put his confidence back on. "I guess I was. But I have something I needed to talk to you about that… well… I didn't really want all of the ears of New Directions pressed to the door."

"I'm listening."

Before Kurt could say anything, the waiter came over to take their order. Artie suspected the menu was nowhere near as elaborate as it had once been, but it was still nicer than anything they had on the _Cybele._ Kurt was completely gracious as he ordered, all airs and pretenses of culture, but when the waiter left, the pretense came down a little.

It came back up when an older woman in a suit stopped by their table. Kurt immediately jumped up, a strange combination of exaggerated manners and condescension. It made Artie wonder if Kurt felt as strange about being thrown into working with adults as he did. He'd never ask, but he suspected Kurt did feel the same way, especially as Kurt sat back down with a look of relief when the woman left.

"I was wondering," Kurt finally said, fingering the scarf around his neck, "if there was any chance you could get a recording device."

"A recording device?" Artie asked, oddly disappointed. "That's it? What's so secret about that?"

"Who said there was anything secret?"

"You just did!"

"No I didn't! I told you-"

"Not in so many words, but you've been acting like it. What could possibly be so secret about- wait a minute. What are you recording?"

"A speech," Kurt said. "Nothing illicit. I don't need some seedy hidden camera or anything like that. I just need something that can record a speech and be broadcast with a good fidelity."

"Broadcast? Why don't you just go to the stations?"

"Sometimes the stations aren't the channel you want to use. Especially when certain military officials keep eavesdropping." Kurt was trying to play it cool, but he looked flat out guilty.

"Wait," Artie said, the whole thing unfolding in front of him. "You know where Roslin is."

"No I don't!" Kurt widened his eyes in innocence.

"Maybe you don't, but Tom Zarek does."

Kurt drew himself up. "Why would Laura Roslin go to Tom Zarek? She can't stand him. Everyone knows that."

"Yeah, but he's been pretty outspoken against martial law," Artie pointed out. "Not that anyone ever had doubts about his position. Come on, Kurt. I do have a brain." Kurt looked uncomfortable, and Artie sighed. "Relax. I'm not going to say anything."

"You're not?"

"Kurt, if I can figure out that Zarek might know where Roslin is, don't you think Colonel Tigh can, too? He's probably already at the top of their suspect list. I'm kind of surprised they haven't been asking you questions yet."

"Because apparently when Mr. Zarek arranged for _democratic elections_," Kurt emphasized the last words with a glare, "he held a gun to Captain Adama's head. Captain Adama is with President Roslin. And while Roslin might conceivably turn to Zarek, Adama wouldn't." Kurt sat back and glared at Artie, arms crossed and looking for all the world like he was taking on Mr. Schuester.

"And the fact Zarek held a gun to someone's head doesn't bug you at all?"

"Please. Like there weren't guns on him, too." The way Kurt said that made Artie wonder just how different Zarek's version of that day was from the one that he'd heard, and how different either of those was from reality. This conversation wasn't going well, and Artie wasn't sure how the hell to save it.

The waiter arrived and put their plates down in front of them. Artie noticed with a little surprise that they'd both ordered the same pasta dish. It was a small thing, but it made him smile.

"Not quite Breadstix, huh?"

Kurt stared at him for a minute, and then relaxed and smiled a little. "You know," he said slowly, "Finn was right. Their actual breadsticks really did suck."

"The rest of their food was pretty good though."

"If by pretty good you mean standard Gemenese-Canceron fare with no thought or creativity, yes." Kurt sighed. "But I'd give just about anything to eat there again. It was fantastic comfort food."

"We're a long way from there, though." Artie poked the pasta with his fork.

"I know." Kurt sighed. He tapped his fork against the plate and leaned his chin on his hand, deep in thought. Artie concentrated on the food.

"So what _are_ you going to do?" Kurt asked suddenly. "If you're not going to give us the recording device, that is."

"I never said I wasn't," Artie said. Kurt stopped, fork halfway up and his mouth open. "You just want it for a speech, right?"

"Right."

"Let me think about it," Artie said. Kurt eyed him suspiciously for a long moment, and then nodded. Artie picked up his fork and realized his hands were cold and sweaty. Because getting that recording device? That meant unequivocal support for Roslin. And holy shit- it hinged on him. He put his fork back down, shocked to the core. He was being asked to help Roslin… do whatever she was doing. That kind of chance- that kind of decision- had just been dropped in his lap without any warning.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asked.

"Fine," Artie said, and his voice sounded far away in his own ears.

This was a time to be a hero, if he believed in Roslin. Or a time to be a whistle-blower, if he believed in the military. He looked at Kurt and knew immediately he couldn't do the second. So what did that mean about the first?

"So," Kurt said, trying to break the silence. "Has Rachel tried to get on the wireless stations with her songs yet?" He was deliberately casual, almost flirtatious… normal Kurt changing the subject.

"It's funny you mention that," Artie said, snapping out of it. "Rachel was talking about the show again, but with all the work…." He trailed off, smiling. Kurt raised an interested eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"If I got you that recording device," Artie began, "would we be able to use it? After Roslin is done with it?"

"We?"

The idea came to him fully formed. "New Directions. Look. The television show didn't work out, right? But that took choreography and costumes and a lot of effort." Kurt nodded. "But the wireless stations- the ones that are just radio- they're up and looking for entertainment. For the most part, they're just using sound files that people had on personal devices during the attacks, or in their quarters for the ships that survived. There's nothing new. But there could be."

"But we-"

"If we just do songs for the wireless, we don't have to have choreography," Artie explained. "We don't have to have costumes. We just have to have the music. It would take a lot less time, and if we gave the music to the others on the _Galactica_, we could do like we did for the Colonial Day party and have them rehearse their parts ahead of time before we put it all together."

It was funny how excited that thought made him. But then, Artie had never been one of the ones that saw theater and music as his career- just as something that he loved to do on the side. The idea of having that back was incredibly appealing. Kurt looked lost in the thought, until suddenly his eyes sharpened and he smiled at someone over Artie's shoulder. Artie glanced back fully expecting to see some other political figure. But the guy who was approaching only looked a couple of years older than them, with curly hair, a very young face, and a shirt that Artie kind of liked but he was sure was making Kurt cringe. It took a minute, but Artie finally placed his face as Billy Keikeya.

Kurt made the introductions, considerably more relaxed than he had been with the official earlier. "Billy, this is Artie Abrams. He's on the Colonial Communications Commission based out of _Cloud 9_. Billy is President Roslin's aide. He and I weather Quorum meetings together," Kurt explained. "Do you mind if he joins us?"

Artie gestured to the empty seat. "Please do."

"Thanks," Billy said, slipping into their booth. He looked tired. "But I guess I'm not _President_ Roslin's aide anymore. Even once martial law is lifted, I'm sure that the Commander won't reconsider putting her back in office."

"What makes you say that?" Kurt asked.

"I have my sources," Billy said glumly.

"I'm surprised you're not with her," Kurt said.

Billy shrugged. "I had my choice."

"Can I ask you something?" Artie said. Billy nodded. "Why _didn't_ you go with her? I'm not asking to be rude," he hastily amended, putting his hands up, "I just… I'm trying to figure some things out for myself."

Billy leaned forward on his elbows. "I'm an atheist," he said finally. "I believe that President Roslin is dying- I'd never doubt her word on that. And I certainly think she's an excellent leader. But divine intervention, _saying_ that it's divine intervention when people are so desperate to believe that they'll believe anything…." His face twisted. "That's why I didn't go with her. That's the only reason I didn't go with her."

"But it does fit," Artie said. "I guess." _An excellent leader._ Something about that sentence tugged at him.

Billy shrugged. "The words are pretty vague. I understand that there are a few theologians in the Fleet that have studied it more extensively, but the idea that the person who is currently leading us has cancer… the odds against it are high, but not astronomically so."

Kurt looked interested. "Did you read the piece in the _Fleet News_ today? It baffles me how anyone could even begin to believe it. It simply makes no sense."

"No, it makes sense," Billy corrected him. "You just have to believe that it has significance. Which I don't."

"Anyone who does is a delusional moron," Kurt muttered.

"You know," Billy said dryly. "I work for that 'delusional moron.'"

Kurt at least had the grace to flush. "I'm sorry," he muttered stiffly.

Billy looked beaten. "Don't worry. You're hardly the first one to say it. You're just the first one that I can snap back at."

The two of them continued talking, moving on to something about the Quorum meeting that day. Not that there _was_ a Quorum legally, Artie thought sourly, but apparently they were still meeting. There was something comforting about that. Really comforting, actually. He half-tuned out their conversation and thought again about the recording device.

_An excellent leader_, Billy had said. Artie realized that, if you'd asked him before Roslin had made her statement that she was the dying leader, he would agree with this whole-heartedly. She'd kept the Fleet together, she'd unified them, guided them, stood up to the military when she needed to and made hard decisions that kept people alive. Like leaving the ships without FTL drives after the Fleet first firmed. Like shooting down the _Olympic Carrier_; he'd read that story and known he could never have made that call, even though it was absolutely the right one. Like admitting elections needed to take place, like choosing a Vice President, like preserving people's rights. Like supporting the mandate that all Type O donors needed to give a pint of blood every fifty-six days. _That_ was why Quinn's blood strike bothered him. Because as repellent as it was, Roslin was _right._ She was right a lot. Did the fact that he didn't agree with her religiously negate the fact that she was one of the reasons this Fleet was still alive?

No.

It would be risky, if he did this. If he was caught, it could even be seen as aiding and abetting a fugitive. He could be looking at jail time for this. And that was… really kind of cool. Puck would definitely do it. If Puck wasn't on _Galactica_, he would help, too. Because getting a recording device wasn't necessarily going to be easy. But if he got help, and if he fudged the paperwork a little and called in a favor from-

Holy shit. He was really going to do this.

Quinn was down in the infirmary when Artie finally found her. Fortunately, she was alone except for Simon. The two of them were cleaning instruments and talking quietly.

"Think about it," he heard Simon say to Quinn. He patted her on the shoulder and then disappeared behind the curtain into the depths of the infirmary. Artie knocked.

"Artie." Quinn looked surprised to see him. "Come in. Is everything all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"Do you need Simon?" She stood up, her skirt swishing gracefully. "I can go get him."

"No. I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh." She looked baffled, and he couldn't blame her. For all that New Directions was a family, he and Quinn didn't exactly talk much outside of glee.

"I wanted to talk to you about your idea," he said. "The blood thing."

"Oh." Quinn glanced back over her shoulder and then gestured to the spot across from her. "What do you want to talk about?"

Artie wheeled closer. "You know it's a bad idea, right?" he asked.

"It's not a bad idea," Quinn snapped. "It's drawing a hard line in the sand. I know that it's playing hardball and Simon says that the doctors won't go for it, but I think he's wrong."

"That's not the problem," Artie said. "It's not immediate enough. The _Galactica_'s got blood supplies, and withholding them isn't going to be felt right away."

The furrow between Quinn's brows eased a little. "Do you have a suggestion for a better idea?"

Artie grinned. "As a matter of fact, I do."

***

Quinn looked around the gardens, impressed. "I haven't been over here since Colonial Day," she said. "I always forget how amazing it is."

"If I could move over here, I would," Artie said. The halls were wide and even, there were handicap accommodations, and everything was not only nicer but easier.

"Why don't you?"

"There's only a waiting list a mile long," Artie said. "They're not keen on letting people move for non-work related reasons, and I'm not here enough to justify it. Especially now that they modified things on the _Cybele_."

Quinn made a face. "Still. You'd think…" she trailed off and shook her head.

Artie shrugged. "I guess that's life. Come on. We've got crime to do. Let's go make Puck proud."

Puck, Artie discovered, had nothing on Quinn when it came to crime. Quinn immediately swung around behind him to push his chair. And when they came across a pair of security guards who were walking the halls, Quinn leaned down to kiss Artie's cheek.

"You kids are sweet, you know that?" one of the guards said. "Makes me remember why we're staying alive."

"Thank you," Quinn said, all innocence and blushing. Artie just stared up at her until they passed.

"You're good," he said. "You're really good."

"No one will suspect us of a thing." Quinn was smug. "This is fun. Let's go pull the sweet and innocent act on everyone else."

_Look casual,_ Artie told himself as they made their way through the halls. _No one is watching us. No one knows what we're doing. What we're planning._ He wondered how many people would support them if they knew.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked Quinn.

"Go for it."

"Why do you believe that she's the Dying Leader of the prophecies? What's your proof?"

"That's what faith is, Artie," Quinn said. "You don't need proof to believe."

"But-"

"Sarah Porter believes. She was a professor of theology before she was Dean of her college." Quinn shrugged. "A lot of people believe. Why do you ask? You believe, don't you? You're doing this for her- you must."

_No._ Quinn's answer didn't convince him of a damn thing. "Yeah. Sure. We're doing this, aren't we? Right here, by the way."

Quinn stopped by a double door. "Can you get in?"

"Should be able to." Artie fished out his key card. He put it in the slot and watched it turn green.

"I feel like this should be harder," Quinn said as Artie opened the door. "Like there should be people shooting at us or something."

"I know. If you want the truth, I'm a little disappointed." He wheeled in. "Well, we've hit the jackpot."

The room was lined with shelves, and the shelves had all sorts of equipment on them. A lot of it was rounded up from various ships in the Fleet, and most of it was old and outdated, or obscure or cheap models. All the good stuff was already taken.

"I don't even know exactly what we're looking for," Quinn said. "It's been so long since I've used anything but a vBand."

Artie scanned the shelves. "There," he said, pointing to the top one. "That's an old Jaxie 520 model. No one will notice it's missing for a few days. I hope."

Quinn stood on her toes, then shook her head and found a stool. The Jaxie was dusty, and she sneezed as she handed it to Artie.

"I hope this baby works," he said, checking to make sure that there was a tape as well.

"Artie."

Both Quinn and Artie froze. Paulla Schaffer headed up the Colonial Communications Commission, and was someone Artie was very familiar with from working with the station. She was not a big woman, but she was intimidating, perhaps because her expression suggested she could rip a man's balls off with her fingernails and would probably enjoy the experience. Artie was very, very alarmed to realize he was on the receiving end of that expression. "Er, yes, Ms. Schaffer?"

"What are you doing?"

"Taking a requisitioned recording device. Didn't you get the form?" Artie said, looking as bored as he could.

Paulla blinked. She'd obviously been expecting a fight, and Artie had knocked the wind from her sails. "What are you taking it for?"

"New Directions. We're trying to put together a demo tape. For the wireless stations?" he added, when she didn't answer.

"What the hell is New Directions?"

"It's our show choir."

Paulla sighed and rubbed her temples. "This doesn't have anything to do with that Rachel Berry girl, does it?" Quinn and Artie exchanged looks, and Paulla groaned. "No."

"What?" Artie looked up at Quinn anxiously. "Ms. Schaffer, it's just an old one that no one is ever going to use."

"It's Colonial property and I'm not letting it go to some high school singing group."

"President Roslin asked us-"

"There is no President Roslin anymore," Paulla said. "Put it back or I'll call security."

"Should we kick her?" Quinn whispered.

"I'd really like to keep my job," Artie said from the side of his mouth. "Wait, were you joking?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Ms. Schaffer?" she said, holding out her hand, "I'm Quinn Fabray. I'm with the Gemenon Council on Decency and Appropriateness in Fleet Entertainment."

"The what?" Paulla and Artie both asked. Quinn nudged Artie in the shoulder, hard.

"The Gemenon Council on Decency and Appropriateness in Fleet Entertainment. We've just been commissioned by Ms. Porter. And when the Quorum is reinstated- and the Quorum _will_ be reinstated- we will be monitoring the content of the broadcasts to ensure that it will be appropriate for the children in the Fleet."

"Oh, for frak's sake…."

"Now," Quinn continued, in the best ice princess voice Artie had ever heard her pull out, "you and I can be friends, or you and I can be enemies. It would make both our lives so much easier to be friends, don't you think?"

"You think I'm afraid of a fight?" Paulla asked.

"No, I think you have better things to do with your time than argue with me," Quinn said. "Especially when all it takes to make a good impression is the use of an old, antiquated recording device that no one was going to use anyway."

Paulla narrowed her eyes, looking from Artie to Quinn. Artie smiled back, but Quinn held her ground, arms crossed, and looking a lot older than eighteen.

"That form had better be on my desk, Abrams," Paulla said. She looked at her watch. "You're right. I do have better things to do with my time."

Quinn held out her hand. "I look forward to working with you."

"Right." Paulla glared at them one more time and then left.

"That was _awesome_," Artie said once he was sure they were alone. "You're even better at this crime thing than Puck."

Quinn smiled.

***

"You know," Artie said as they sat in the shuttle back to the _Cybele_, their prize on his lap, "the New Directions thing wasn't just a cover."

"It wasn't?" Quinn arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Singing for a wireless station is a lot less difficult than singing for a TV show. We could do it, if we wanted to."

Quinn frowned. "I know that we all have our own lives and jobs now, but I'd kind of like to."

"Kurt's on board, too. And you know Rachel will be."

"Yes," Quinn said with sigh, rolling her eyes. "Rachel and her talent. It's amazing how she can still be so insufferable at the end of the worlds."

"So you'd be in?"

Quinn ran her fingers lightly over the recording device. "I would. Thank you, by the way."

"For what?"

"For asking me to do this. Simon had a lot to say about the blood strike idea. He really didn't like it." Quinn frowned. "I see his point," she admitted, "but I just… she's the _dying leader_ of the prophecies."

"Right." Artie looked down.

Silence.

"You don't believe it," Quinn said, realization dawning in her voice. "You don't think she is." Artie shrugged. "Why did you do it, then?" Quinn asked. "If you think she's a lunatic?"

"I don't think she's a lunatic," Artie corrected her. "She's too rational. She really believes what she's saying… I think. I guess… I guess I did it because of everything she's done before this. And because, well, when else would I get to do something that mattered?"

"You _do_ get to do things that matter," Quinn said.

"Okay, not matter," Artie said, because Quinn was right about that. "But something… _big._"

"Badass."

Artie snapped his fingers. "Exactly. Well, I guess exactly."

Quinn pressed her lips together, looking at the recording device. "I'm glad you did it."

Artie took a deep breath. "I hope I will be, too."

***

They put the recorder on Kurt's bed. Artie had the feeling that by doing that, he was putting himself far deeper in this thing than he had ever wanted.

Well, here went nothing.

***

He expected fireworks and explosions, or at least _something._ Instead, his next day went exactly as he planned it, with work on receivers and a trip over to the _Monarch_ to repair a faulty circuit. It was late when he was finally able to work on upgrading some of the _Cybele_'s systems.

"Solder?" Brittany asked. "Aren't they over on _Galactica_?"

"That's soldiers, Brittany," Artie said, long used to how Brittany's mind worked. "Solder. The metal stuff you melt."

"Oh. Right." Brittany smiled, but didn't look embarrassed beyond that. Instead, she turned around and started sorting through the crates neatly lined up in the storage pod-cum-workshop. "Mr. H? Do we have any solder?"

"Soft or hard?" Burt didn't look up from whatever it was he was fixing.

"There are about a million dirty jokes that could use that as a punch line." Kurt sauntered into the workshop. He had his satchel slung over one shoulder and a strut to his step, but Artie also noticed that there were circles under his eyes and his hands kept gripping the satchel's strap. "Hi, Dad."

"That time already?" Burt squinted up at the clock. "You're early."

"I know," Kurt said with a sigh. "That's what happens when the Quorum's not in session." He put his satchel down and leaned back against a workbench, arms crossed as he watched Brittany sort through the bins. "You need a hand?"

Burt's head shot up. "Yeah, sure," he said, his voice much more casual than his body language. "You might want to change out of that get-up, though."

"All right." A little smile lingered at the edge of Kurt's lips. "Artie, would you mind giving me a hand? There's a knot on the back of this shirt that is the devil to undo alone." He winked.

"Er, sure." Helping disrobe Kurt wasn't exactly something Artie was keen on doing, but he wasn't going to say that in front of Mr. Hummel. And the way that Mr. Hummel rolled his eyes made Artie think that Kurt asking for help with various zippers, ties, and buttons wasn't an unusual thing. Not to mention Kurt's wink was a dead giveaway that something was up.

The New Directions' room was only a few doors down from Mr. Hummel's workship. Brittany had gotten hold of some paint and painted the door bright yellow, and insisted on everyone putting a handprint around the door. They'd all laughed at the idea, but Artie had to admit he liked the colored handprints, each with a name scrawled over them. There was even space for when they were able to get Puck, Mercedes, and Santana over. Finn had come over on a shuttle run, and his handprint was right next to Kurt's and under Burt and Carole's prints.

The interior of their cabin had improved as well. Part of it was due to Brittany and her paintbrush (say what you would, but Artie also liked the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling), but part of it was due to supplies being distributed more and people finding money to buy things they really wanted. It was interesting to see what everyone chose. Burt and Carole, for example, had opted for a plush comforter- not that you could see it with the sheets neatly tacked around their bed for privacy. Quinn had managed to get four new books. Tina had found a mirror, Mike had found several new games, and Rachel had a stack of recordings. Artie himself had managed to get a deep, dark blue bedspread and pillows. Clothes were organized on racks that Burt had built, and old crates served as tables and cabinets. The room had gotten a lot cozier, and Artie realized that he was really thinking of it as home.

"So you didn't really need help with knot, did you?" Artie said as Kurt began unlacing his boots. "What's really going on?"

"I really did need help with the knot," Kurt huffed, and presented Artie with his back.

Artie began to unpick the knot that tied Kurt's shirt down. "Okay, but what do you really need?" Artie prompted.

"We're having some… problems over on the _Astral Queen._"

"I can't see your face, but I'll bet you're winking again."

"I am not! I just wasn't sure how to phrase it."

"Uh-huh." The knot came loose in Artie's hands. "You're set." He lowered his voice. "Did you try making the recording?"

"Thank you." Kurt turned around. "We haven't yet, but that's not the issue. We're having some problems with the systems on the _Astral Queen._ Well, not problems. We want to modify it a little."

"To do what?" Artie asked.

"We need to be able to do our own jump calculations. Well, not just jump calculations, something about extending the range of them. I don't understand it at all. _Galactica_ gave us a data patch to install before we reached Kobol, but the Sagittaron crew isn't exactly up to the minute on the latest computer technology. Would you be able to do it?"

Their own jump calculations. Artie's mouth went dry, because there was no way this didn't have to do with Roslin. "I helped do it for the _Cybele_," he said. "I could do it." It hadn't been the wireless, but computers were computers and the data patch had had a pretty standard installation, really.

Kurt's gaze sharpened and he leaned forward. "When can you get over to the _Astral Queen_?"

"Late tomorrow," Artie said. "I can do it then."

Kurt smiled grimly. "Thank you," he said quietly, and then straightened back up.

"Hey Kurt?" Artie asked as Kurt started shrugging off his shirt. "Why are _you_ doing it? Because I know you don't think she's the dying leader."

"I don't," Kurt agreed. "But she _is_ the leader. One thing being on the Cheerios taught me: a true leader remembers who helped her on the ladder to success."

"Right," Artie said. He watched Kurt finish changing. "That's the only reason?"

"I like my job," Kurt said with a shrug. "That's enough of a reason right there. See you tomorrow."

He stepped out of the homey compartment, ready to take on the world. Artie wished he felt half as confident about what he'd just agreed to do.

***

Four-fifty. Artie wondered why he felt so guilty as he slipped on his headphones and spun the dial to the right channel.

"_Galactica_, this is the _Cybele_."

"Right on time, _Cybele_," Mercedes said, and she sounded cheerful. "How's life over there?"

"Not bad," Artie said, feeling like he'd crack and everything would come through in his voice. "How about there?"

"About to get better," Mercedes said happily. "Scuttlebutt has it that the Commander's coming back to the CIC today."

Adama coming back to the CIC. Things would be decided about Roslin once and for all today. "Mercedes," Artie said.

"Don't ask me questions I'm not authorized to answer," Mercedes said, in an impersonal voice that didn't sound much like her own. "There will be consequences for any ship that goes against the orders given by the _Galactica_."

"Wait, you really think that?"

"We are serious, _Cybele_. Those are the orders."

"Mercedes. Do you agree with the orders?"

"Does Mr. Schuester choose a set list a month before Nationals?"

"I see what you're saying," Artie said carefully.

"You should. Take care, _Cybele_."

"You too, _Galactica._"

He hung up and swallowed hard. It should feel better to have confirmation that someone else thought he was doing the right thing. Instead, it just made him more nervous.

***

"Wheels."

Artie looked up, startled. Coach Sylvester _never_ approached him voluntarily unless she needed something. "Yes, Coach?"

She looked from side to side and then sat down at his table, where Artie was grabbing a late breakfast. "We need to talk," she said, crossing her arms and leaning forward. "My sources tell me that you're planning on making a little trip over to the _Astral Queen_ this evening."

"Sources? What sources?"

"The voices in my head that speak to me through visions and chamalla-induced stupors," Coach Sylvester said sarcastically. "The shuttle schedule, you idiot. You put your name right on there. What do you think?"

"Oh. Right. Well, I'm doing some maintenance work over there on their wireless," Artie said, trying to look prim and innocent. At least she didn't have pliers.

"And how are you planning on getting over there?"

"That would be the shuttle schedule I signed up for, Coach Sylvester."

"You might as well hold your breath and flap your arms if you think you're going to get there that way," she said, sitting back and crossing her arms over her chest. "You think the shuttle's going to be running tonight?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Word has it that Commander Adama is on his feet again, taking control of _Galactica._ He might not love martial law like his twit Tigh, but he has to catch Roslin. Letting her go makes him look like a fool. And what's he going to do to catch her?"

"I don't know… search the ships?"

"Exactly. Search the ships. And how do you do that to make sure she can't jump back to one that's already been searched?"

"You…" Artie frowned, feeling it almost hit and then hit hard. "You keep the ships separated."

"Exactly," Sue said, smacking an open palm on the table between them. "Quarantine. Good thinking, Bearskin."

"Wait, I thought I was Wheels."

Sue blinked. "You think I care enough to keep all you losers straight?" she asked, pushing away from the table. "I've lingered here too long. There's your information, Wheels, do with it what you will."

"But I didn't-" Sue was walking away, off to terrorize someone else. Artie frowned. As much as he didn't trust Coach Sylvester as far as he could throw her (which wasn't really at all), her logic made sense. If he was going to do this, he had to do it _now_.

He took a deep breath, and then went to see if he could find Kurt before he left for the _Astral Queen_ for the day. If they were going to do this, he needed to be on the same shuttle over.

***

The _Astral Queen_ looked exactly like Artie expected, and at the same time, not. He'd imagined the huge cell blocks and the cells, but he hadn't thought of the blankets and materials put up since the attacks to make those cells homes instead of prisons.

"Don't look," Kurt hissed as he pushed Artie down the center of the cellblock. "They don't like it when you stare. It's an invasion of privacy. But don't be too obvious that you're not looking. Just act casual."

"Right. Casual." Because it was so easy to be casual in a wheelchair as you rolled down the center aisle of a cell block. "There's no other way to get to the main control room?"

"No," Kurt said. A man waved at them. He was older, with long, grizzled gray hair and a thick gray beard. Kurt waved back.

"I'm just saying," Artie said, rubbing the sweating palms of his hands together. "Because this is just too weird."

"They are just people, you know," Kurt said, but there was a quaver in his voice. Artie felt a little better knowing that Kurt wasn't as confident as he was pretending. "We're almost there."

At the end of the cellblock there was a flight of stairs. Artie was about to comment that there was no way he could climb those when he noticed a good-sized man waiting for them, leaning against the wall, hands in his pocket. He was older, maybe fifty or sixty, with gray hairs in his goatee and an odd dye job that must have been the style on Sagittaron. He was wearing civilian clothes, Artie noticed, unlike a lot of them men lounging in the cells.

"Mr. Meier," Kurt said. Meier grinned at them. It was a quick grin, laced heavily with bitterness. He wasn't particularly large or muscular, Artie thought, but he was easily the hardest man he'd ever seen. "This is Artie Abrams. He's going to help us with the data patch that upgrades the nav system."

"He looks like he's your age."

"He is my age, sir," Kurt said, extremely politely. Artie snapped his head around to look at Kurt. He couldn't remember the last time Kurt had called _anyone_ 'sir.' "But believe me, Artie knows what he's doing with anything electrical."

"If you say so."

Kurt lifted his chin. "I do."

Meier arched an eyebrow. "Okay then," he said. "Let's get him upstairs."

The one thing Artie was certain he would not get used to in this Fleet was the indignity of being carried. Here he was, coming over to the _Astral Queen_ as a coworker- as a frakking _consultant_- and he had to be carried up the stairs like a baby. Meier didn't even break a sweat, either, although he heard Kurt struggling with the wheelchair behind them. The climb seemed to last forever, and he couldn't look directly at Meier, which Meier noticed.

"You can look at me, kid, I'm not going to kill you."

"I didn't think you were," Artie said. "I just don't like being… helpless."

A shadow flickered over Meier's face, and he didn't seem quite as terrifying for a moment. "Yeah, I get that well enough," he said. "Can't say I'd like being a cripple either." There were a million things wrong with that statement, but Artie decided it was better for his general health not to take offense. Meier got to the top and waited for Kurt to finish climbing and open the wheelchair back up. "Don't think the boss is back yet," he told Kurt, "but go ahead and get started."

"Yes, sir." Kurt turned. "Come on, Artie. The control room is this way."

Artie waited until they were safely inside the control room before he asked. "Okay. So what's the story with Meier?"

Kurt shuddered, and then looked around to make sure no one was listening. "I can't stand him. He… watches me."

"Yeah, I picked up that part. Are they all… like that?"

"No. I mean, a few of them have hit on me and everything, but they take no for answer." Kurt seemed remarkably unconcerned about that. "I just don't…"

_I just don't trust that he'd take no for an answer._ Kurt didn't have to say it. It was the hardness in Meier that had scared Artie himself, and Kurt must have felt it, too. "What about Zarek?" he asked.

"Oh, Zarek is completely different," Kurt said, and this time his face lit up. "You'll see. Okay. Here's the patch they sent," he said, turning their attention back to the job at hand and handing Artie a disk. "Do you need anything?"

"I'll let you know." The wireless was beckoning to him, and looking at it grounded Artie. Kurt murmured something and backed away to do paperwork, but Artie had already tuned him out. All of the trepidation drained out of him and slid the disk into the drive of the nav computer.

The patch had a straightforward user interface, but there were a lot of steps and a few tricks to take into account the age of the _Astral Queen_'s computers.. By the time he was done, his shoulders were sore and his head was pounding, but it worked. He watched the program scroll across the scene, a smile of triumph spreading across his face. "Finished," he said triumphantly.

"Now, that's a sound I like to hear."

Artie had seed Tom Zarek before, although never up close in person. Now he was standing in front of him, hands in his the pockets of a black leather jacket, leaning against the wall. He pushed up and extended a hand to Artie. "Tom Zarek. Nice to meet you."

"Artie Abrams. I think I've got it all set, sir."

"No need for the 'sir'," Zarek said, a little too casually, giving Artie the impression that dropping the 'sir' was not really an option. He stepped forward and leaned over Artie's shoulder, examining the modifications. "This is installed correctly?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're sure of this?"

The voice wasn't Zarek's. Artie looked beyond him and his eyes widened, because Roslin was standing right there. She was accompanied by a woman wearing the regalia of a priestess and a good-looking man in a drab jacket who Artie realized must be Lee Adama, if the reports of him helping Roslin were true. But it was Roslin who commanded the room, just by being in it.

"Oh!" Artie fumbled with the wheels of his wheelchair, feeling like he should stand but obviously unable, and suddenly aware of a smudge on his cheek and a small burn on his vest. "I… erm… yes. I'm sure. Sir. Ma'am."

"It's all right," Roslin said. "Take a breath." She was another one Artie had only seen once in person, but he knew her face as well as everyone else in the Fleet did. In person, she looked more attractive, and more human. She also looked nervous, Artie realized. She leaned over his work as well, and then shook her head. "I can't even get a cassette into a player," she laughed. "I'll take your word for it that it works."

"Are you ready to do this, then?" Zarek asked her.

"Hey, Zarek?" Meier said. "The guys still haven't heard the tape yet. Most of them are ready to go because you say we should go, but I think a lot of them would really like to hear it."

"Of course. They're Sagittaron," The priestess said. "Play it for them."

Zarek glared at her. "They'll follow no matter what," he said, but he put the tape into a player and picked up a microphone.

"_Astral Queen_, this is Tom Zarek. It has been brought to my attention that you've yet to hear the message that has been distributed throughout the Fleet. Allow me to remedy that right now." He moved the microphone next to the tape player and pushed play. Artie leaned forward, curious, because even though he'd helped get the device that made the recording, he had yet to hear the result himself.

Roslin's voice filled the ship. "Women and men of the Fleet. It seems I have been chosen to help lead you to the promise land of Earth. I will not question this choice I'll simply try to play my part on the plan. Therefore, at the appointed hour, I will give the signal to the fleet. All those wishing to honor the Gods and walk the paths of destiny will follow me back to Kobol it is there we will meet the Gods' servant with the Arrow of Apollo. With the Arrow, we will be able to find a path to Earth."

A chill ran down Artie's spine, and he had the sudden, overwhelming feeling that someone else was in the room. Someone bigger- so big that the room could in no way contain them- and something as personal as a hand on his shoulder. The priestess closed her eyes and whispered, "Praise be to the Gods."

"So say we all." Meier said it fervently. Artie wasn't completely sure he agreed with the sentiment, but he did feel like if there was ever a time he would, it was right now.

Zarek glanced at Meier out of the corner of his eye, a smirk playing on his lips. "Well, Laura," he said, facing Roslin, "there you have it. If anything is going to get people to follow us, that will."

"I can only hope," Roslin said. "But as long as these upgrades work and we are able to go and meet Thrace at Kobol, we can do what needs to be done. We can get that Arrow and find the Tomb of Athena, and find the map to Earth."

"They will follow, Laura," the priestess said. "Maybe not all the ships, but the ones that have people of faith will follow."

That didn't seem to reassure Roslin. Instead, she bit her lip and shook her head. "I wish there was another way," she said. "I don't like dividing the Fleet. It makes us vulnerable, weak. And there are risks."

"It's not a choice you're making. It is the choice that Adama is making."

Behind Roslin, Artie saw the surprise on Kurt's face. It took about that long to register what was happening. Part of the Fleet was jumping away. It might just be this ship, but they were jumping away from the protection of the _Galactica_. The Cylons were out there. Intellectually, Artie knew that the chances of the Cylons finding them would normally be pretty small, but he had a hard time forcing himself to really believe that, especially when the Cylons had been stationed on Kobol. His stomach started twisting in knots and fear blocked his throat. Standing up to the _Galactica_ was one thing; leaving her was another.

"Mr. Zarek?" Kurt spoke up. "Should I get back to the _Cybele_?"

Zarek shrugged. "You're not going to be able to get there. Adama will have Raptors coming here as soon as he hears about that tape."

"He's already heard about it, I'm sure," Lee said. "Even if they don't know we're here yet, they know we're coming here. There's no way a shuttle will get in or out."

Kurt's eyes widened. "But my dad- I have family on the _Cybele_! And Artie- he didn't know we'd be jumping right away when he came over here!"

"The _Cybele_ is populated almost entirely by Gemenese," Zarek said, extremely unconcerned. "They'll be first in line to follow us."

Roslin actually looked sympathetic. That surprised Artie. "If we have enough ships follow us, Adama will have to come after us," she told Kurt. "I don't believe that the Fleet will be divided for long."

"It is not the Gods' will," the priestess added.

Kurt looked like he wanted to argue more, but the position was clear; the two of them were not getting back to the _Cybele_. Zarek clapped Kurt on the shoulder and then retreated with Roslin, Lee, Meier, and the priestess into a quiet conversation. Artie wheeled over to Kurt.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. It's just…."

"It's just your dad on the _Cybele_," Artie said. "Carole's on the the _Daru Mozu_ today and Finn's on the _Galactica_."

Kurt nodded. "Yes."

Artie wanted to say something, but really, there was nothing to say. So instead he asked, "What _is_ the Arrow of Apollo? Is she really serious about that?"

"What is the Arrow of Apollo? How could you not possibly know that?"

"Not really my thing. I'm surprised you know it," Artie said.

Kurt sighed. "I know it because it's _art_, not religion. There's a statue in the Delphi Museum of the Colonies on Caprica. I've never seen the real statue obviously; aside from being on Caprica, the statue is broken. But the hand that survives is absolutely exquisite. It's supposedly an artifact from the Exodus from Kobol. From what I've picked up, it's some sort of key that unlocks the Tomb of Athena." Kurt shrugged contemptuously at that. But the color was returning to his face, and he was regaining his composure. "So she sent someone back to Caprica to get the Arrow. That's what made Adama lock her up in the first place."

"_That_ was the abuse of power?" Artie asked incredulously. "_That's_ what started all this? That's it?"

Kurt shrugged. "I guess she stole some military asset to do it." He checked his watch. "I know this sounds crazy, but I'm supposed to meet with some of the people on this ship. I guess it's business as usual, right?"

"Right," Artie said. "I'll just make myself useful in here."

Kurt gave him a brief half-smile and disappeared from the control room in a flash of color. Artie watched him go, suddenly feeling very alone.

They hadn't jumped yet, he reminded himself. Who knew how many ships would follow him? Zarek's casual assurance that the _Cybele_ would follow had been meant to divert Kurt's attention and pat him down- Artie had seen that immediately- but it was also true. They _would_ follow. They would.

It was all going to work out, he told himself. And if it didn't, if they jumped back into the Cylons and they all died in a fiery explosion… well, at least it would be quick.

***

The hour ticked by.

The men aboard the _Astral Queen_ truly believed that Roslin was the dying leader. Artie had seen that belief before- it was all over the _Cybele_- but he hadn't seen it expressed like it was here on the _Astral Queen._ People kneeling for her blessing, trying to kiss her hand… the religious devotion was physically expressed and discomforting for Artie to watch.

Artie had only ever known one Sagittaron before, and that was Blaine. And for the most part, Blaine didn't act like one. He'd left the planet and had no desire to return, and by all accounts his entire family had been happier on Gemenon. Aside from a soma bracelet that he'd worn, he didn't seem to keep any of the traditions. But some of these men were Sagittaron to the core.

The point was driven home when he made his way to a bathroom. The stares of the inmates were uncomfortable, bordering on hostile. "I don't understand," he said to Meier, who'd come with him to help get his chair up a few steps. "Did I do something wrong?"

"You lived."

"What?"

Meier shrugged. "You lived," he said, pointing to Artie's wheelchair. "Whatever happened to you, it would have killed you without a doctor, am I right?"

"Yes. They did surgery."

"They cut into your body. They mutilated your flesh. They took the decision from the gods and made it for themselves. There you go, that's the party line. You're tainted. That's what they think."

"Wow. That's…." _a new one._ Well, it was. Sort of. Not really. Hadn't he been treated differently his whole life for something broadly similar? But then, the Gemenese never said he should have _died_.

He knew the Sagittarons were the exception to the rule, and that they were oddities among the Colonies. But he couldn't help thinking that if these were the Gods, he wanted no part of them.

The _Cybele_ had decent food. Artie hadn't realized how true that was until he managed to get down to the dining area on the _Astral Queen_ and get a meal. The brown glop that was meant to be stew was the most unappetizing thing he'd ever had. He sat staring at the goo dripping from his spoon into the bowl, wondering just how hungry he was.

"Quite a day, isn't it?" Artie looked up to see the priestess sitting down across from him. "I don't think we've been introduced," she said, extending a hand. "I'm Elosha."

"Artie Abrams."

"How are you doing, Artie?" There was a knowing look in her eyes, and Artie suspected that the question was more than just mere politeness.

"A little overwhelmed."

"I imagine. I've felt the same way since this whole journey began."

"Mmm." Artie looked down at his stew.

"It's one thing to believe in the Gods. It's another to find yourself directly being used for Their work."

"I guess."

Elosha studied him and then smiled. "You don't have to pretend just to be polite," she said.

"It's not exactly something I talk about," Artie muttered.

Elosha frowned. "You're Gemenese, aren't you?" she said. "I thought that's what I heard Zarek say." Artie nodded. "The Gemenese adherence to the Scriptures is… strict."

"That's a nice way of putting it. But I guess it's better than Sagittaron beliefs." Elosha cocked her head inquiringly, and Artie sighed. "Meier told me that they all think I should have died. That my soul is tainted because a doctor saved me."

"Of course. I should have seen that." Elosha patted his hand sympathetically. "The Sagittaron interpretation of Scripture is ignorant at best."

"How can you say that, though?" Artie asked. "I mean, what makes you so sure that you're right and they're wrong? No Gods have come down from Olympus to hand out carved tablets or anything."

Elosha's eyebrow went up. "Do you _want_ to believe the Sagittarons are right?"

"No, but I don't want to believe that the Cylons blew up all of humanity, either!" Artie protested. "Just because something sucks doesn't automatically mean it's wrong! Not that the Sagittarons _are_ right, of course. But I just don't… I just don't really get it."

Elosha was silent for a long moment. "You know," she said finally, "people think that just because I'm a priest means that I don't understand how people can't believe in the Gods. Funny enough, I understand all too well."

"Really."

"Really." Elosha laughed. "Believe me, Artie, if you had known me when I was your age, you never would have guessed I would turn out to be a priest. Car thieves usually don't."

"You stole cars?"

"Mm-hmm. I used to be the best in my area at hot-wiring. It's not hard to figure out, but there really is an art to it. I lifted thirty-six cars before I was busted."

"You're kidding."

Elosha shook her head. "When I was brought before the court, they gave me a choice of the monastery or reform school. I chose the monastery."

"And you learned about the Gods," Artie said in a dull voice.

Elosha laughed. "Not like that. For a long time, I didn't believe. I chose the monastery because it was the easier of the two options. The _safer_ of the two options. And you have no idea what novices get up to. Chamalla… it's very potent. But I didn't believe. Not for a long time."

"What made you believe?" Artie asked. "What changed your mind?"

"A lot of things," Elosha said. "Some were small, too small for me to even notice at the time. Some were bigger. I lost my sister while I was in monastery. We were close, and her death should have destroyed me. It didn't. I got through that time with help, and I realized that. I had visions. People can put them down to the chamalla, but sometimes… you just _know._ I can't prove it to anyone else, but _I_ experienced it and I believed it."

"I somehow doubt the Gods are trying to talk to me," Artie said sourly. "If they are, they're pretty much saying 'frak you'."

"Maybe," Elosha allowed. "Maybe not. The thing with the Gods is, you have to always be listening. And maybe they aren't." She smiled. "The Gods are wise, Artie. Some people they approach directly. Some people they approach more subtly, or in a language that they can understand. Some only Zeus approaches, some Aphrodite, some Athena… there are as many approaches as there are people. And some people they just don't approach at all. The Gods are wise enough to make that distinction."

"Be nice if humanity would make the same distinction," Artie muttered.

"On worlds other than Gemenon, they do." Elosha sighed. "But Artie, we're here, on the cusp of one of the great miracles. When the servant returns with the Arrow of Apollo, we _will_ have the map to Earth. What will you do with that knowledge? What will that mean to you?"

Artie sat back. Up until now, he'd dismissed the whole idea of Roslin being the dying leader as… yes, as superstition. Over-enthusiastic interpretation of vague texts. But say it happened. Say this Kara Thrace actually returned from Caprica with the Arrow- which even Kurt admitted was a real thing, even if he didn't think it had any significance- and this whole thing worked?

"I don't know," he said finally. "I guess I would have to hear… I'd have to _see._"

Elosha smiled at that and covered his hand with her own. "Let me ask you something, Artie. When that time comes, when we have the map, talk to me. Work through your questions with me, instead of trying to deal with them on your own. I won't try to force you to believe, I won't push you in a direction you're not willing to go. But I'd like to be there to help you. You say you don't know, and that, Artie, is the beginning step of the journey. To admit that you _don't_ know everything. Take those next steps with me."

He felt that feeling again that he'd felt in the control room when Roslin had made her recording. The feeling that someone else was in the room, standing just beyond his line of sight, watching him. Waiting for him.

"All right," he heard himself saying. "If we find a map, I'll discuss it with you. I promise. But why? I'm just… I'm not anyone important. I'm a kid in a wheelchair with a bad haircut. Why?"

"Laura wants to save her people," Elosha said softly. "And so do I."

Artie swallowed, speechless.

***

"All right," Lee said, looking at his watch. "It's time."

Roslin nodded to the pilot. He nodded back and launched the flare. It was impossible to see it from inside the control room, but Artie could imagine it going up, exploding in a burst of light over the _Astral Queen._ He sat at the wireless station- his real domain- tense with anticipation.

"We're starting jump preparation," the pilot told Roslin. She nodded and crossed her arms, leaning back a little. Artie wished that he could contact _Galactica_. But even if it wasn't so dangerous, Mercedes wasn't on shift anyway. His throat closed, and he sat at the radio console, frozen, waiting for the order.

"Three… two… one… jump!"

They jumped.

Artie waited with bated breath as the others went through their checks. Finally, the navigator looked up. "We're in orbit around Kobol."

The wireless buzzed into life.

"_Astral Queen_, this is the _Gemeneon Traveller_. We're with you."

"_Astral Queen_, _Galatea_ here. We're in formation."

"This is the _Monarch._ You'd better be right about this."

"_Astral Queen_, this is the _Epheme_. We're here."

"_Astral Queen_, this is the _Cybele._"

"_Cybele_, this is the _Astral Queen,_" Artie said, nearly collapsing in relief. "It's good to hear your voice."

***

In the end, twenty-four ships came with them. Eighteen thousand people. It was more than Artie expected, to be honest.

The _Astral Queen_ didn't have windows, but he could see Kobol spinning below them on one of the screens. It was beautiful, all blue and green with white streaky clouds.

"It's too bad we can't just settle here," he said wistfully.

"Except for the Cylons waiting to blow us up." Meier didn't seem at all impressed. "The Quorum in there," he jerked his thumb in the direction of the conference room, "aren't going to take too kindly to the idea of settling where toasters are hunting us."

"I didn't say we _should_ settle here," Artie snapped. "I just said I wish we could."

Meier opened his mouth to argue, but a beeping distracted him. He leaned forward, studying it, and then abruptly departed towards to conference room where the Quorum was meeting. Artie leaned over and looked at the screen; an unmarked symbol was approaching the _Astral Queen._

"Go wait in the dining hall," Meier ordered him. Artie had no choice but to obey.

Artie was also beginning to wonder just how long he was going to be stuck on the _Astral Queen_. He'd been here for hours, and truth be told, he was bored out of his mind. He wanted to go back to the _Cybele_, just to reassure himself that they were there. That New Directions was there… well, most of New Directions. There was no real home to go to, but that was what he wanted. He wanted to go home.

The minutes ticked by. Eventually, Kurt came and sat down next to him. "Quorum meeting over?"

"It is. I got sent down here." Kurt frowned. "I'm debating if it's worth trying to stomach the food over here, or if I should just hold out until we're sent back over to the _Cybele._" He dropped a stack of papers next to his place. "I'm thinking hold out."

"You should. I ate the stew earlier," Artie said, holding his stomach.

"You actually ate it? I'm pretty sure they use cat meat."

"Oh." Artie had been half-joking before, but now he was feeling distinctly sick. "Kurt, can I ask you a question?"

Kurt arranged his papers on the table. "I'm not joking about the cat."

"Let's not talk about the cat, okay? What are you going to do if this is all real? The Arrow of Apollo and all that?"

Kurt shrugged, not even looking up. "Nothing," he said. "I mean, as much as I despise admitting it, religion does generally have a basis in fact. We came from Kobol. There were twelve tribes that settled twelve planets, and maybe there really is a thirteenth tribe. I'd believe any of that. It's the question of the involvement of any sort of fantastical deity that I can't accept. There's always some sort of logical explanation. Now, if you don't mind, I've got work to do."

"Go ahead," Artie said. He pulled out a piece of paper and began to work on his own schedule for the next day. Now that he knew what ships were around, he had an idea of where he needed to be and who he could work with. He wondered how long the Fleet would be separated. _Cloud 9_ hadn't come, but the _Zephyr_ had. He'd have to let Izzo know he was here, especially since some of her crew may have been left behind as well. He kept writing until his eyes grew heavy and his head started to droop, and before he knew it, he was asleep at the table.

***

"Kurt."

Artie jerked awake as Zarek walked in. Kurt was asleep, his head resting on his folded arms on the table. Zarek nodded at Artie and then sat down on the table and shook Kurt awake. "Kurt. You there?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry. I…" Kurt blinked, trying to wake up quickly. "Just a minute."

"No, it's all right. I want you to go back to the _Cybele_ tonight."

Kurt blinked. "If you need help-"

"I don't." Zarek sounded very fatherly. "Look, there's a lot going on." He took a deep breath. "Kara Thrace is back. She brought the Arrow of Apollo."

Artie sat up straighter. "Really?"

"That's what she says it is. Whether or not it does anything…" Zarek shrugged dismissively. "But they're organizing an expedition to go down to Kobol tomorrow."

"And you want me to come with you?" Kurt asked dubiously.

"I don't think it's your speed," Zarek said with a thin smile. "Unless I've severely misjudged you and you're more into camping than I thought. There will be no moisturizer."

Kurt shuddered. "Ugh. No." He rubbed at his eyes. "But don't you need me here tomorrow to field calls and take care of things?"

"Not at all. Catch up on your rest, spend time with your father." Zarek patted him on the arm, and then looked at Artie. "I've got a shuttle waiting for the both of you. I don't want you staying on this ship tonight. Aside from Thrace and another human that was stranded on Caprica, they've brought a Cylon on board."

"A Cylon?" Artie gaped at Zarek. "One of the Centurions?"

"No, one of the human models. In some ways, they seem to be even more dangerous." Zarek turned, and Artie saw that Meier was waiting for them. "Let's head on down to the docking bay."

Kurt and Zarek walked a few steps ahead, Zarek talking in a quiet voice to Kurt, obviously relaying instructions. As they passed a holding cell, Artie spotted a woman in a prison jumpsuit. She was small, with olive skin and dark hair. Pretty. And angry.

"Is that her?" he asked Meier.

"Yeah. That's her. I'd kill her if they'd let me," Meier said.

Artie thought about his parents, about all of students at McKinley, all of Lima. And that was just a tiny little blip on all of humanity. And this… this _thing_ in the cell had helped bring about all of that.

"Yeah," he said. "I would, too." He felt Meier's approval, and for a moment the two men completely understood each other.

The shuttle was a modern one, and to Artie's relief, it had a ramp. He wheeled himself up, ready to get back. Kurt climbed on after him, looking as exhausted as Artie felt. Meier didn't smile, but Zarek waved. "Get rest," he called after them both. "And thanks for your help."

He was the picture of fatherly concern. But as the ramp went up, Zarek clapped Meier on the shoulder. "That's them taken care of," Artie heard. "Let's get planning."

***

It was two in the morning when they got back to the _Cybele_. Most of the ship was asleep, but Artie was in no way surprised that Burt was waiting for them and had Kurt in a tight embrace as soon as he was off the shuttle. He was a little surprised- but very pleased- when Burt hugged him as well.

"What about Carole?" Kurt asked as they walked out of the docking bay and towards the New Directions compartment.

Burt's face was angry. "She got stuck over on the _Daru Mozu_," he said grimly. "And Finn's on the _Galactica_."

"Do you think-"

"One of two things is gonna happen. Adama's going to come after us, or we'll go back to them. This family is _not_ breaking apart, Kurt. You got that?"

Kurt nodded.

There was no evidence, no reason to believe Burt was right. But somehow, the way he said it, Artie believed it. Their family was going to be put back together again, some way. That was the thought that lulled him to sleep that night.

***

Artie slept late the next morning, and only woke up when he heard someone crying. It was strange, he thought, gripping his pillow, that crying had the power to wake him up again. It wasn't as common as it used to be. He fumbled for his glasses.

"Brittany?" he asked.

"No."

"Quinn." He put his glasses on and sat up. Quinn was sitting on a crate, knees together, her face blotchy and red. "What's wrong?"

"Do you know what they say about Kobol?" Quinn asked angrily. "That any return will exact a price in blood. In _blood_."

"Did something happen to the expedition?"

"How should I know that?" Quinn demanded. She took a deep breath and wiped furiously at her cheeks, trying to compose herself. She took another, and then looked directly at Artie. Her eyes were red and her nose was swollen, and it was obvious she'd been crying for a long time. "Simon is dead."

"What? Dr. O'Neill?"

"No, Simon Brill. Of _course_ Dr. O'Neill."

"What? How?"

Quinn sniffed. "Suicide," she said. "His wife found the note this morning. They checked the logs and an airlock was activated yesterday."

"What time yesterday?" Artie asked, running his hands through his hair in an attempt to get it to lie flat.

"What time? Why does it matter?" When he shrugged, Quinn sighed. "Early. Nine something."

"So before Roslin made her announcement about Kobol," Artie said. "There's a logical explanation for everything."

"Suicide is logical?" Quinn said. "Taking your own life, angering the Gods like that… especially when his wife and stepdaughter are still alive?" She was angry now. "His _child_ is still alive, Artie. How is that logical?"

Depression, guilt over something, survivor's guilt, feeling hopeless and helpless…. There were plenty of reasons why someone would kill themselves, Artie thought. But something in Quinn's face made him realize that her anger wasn't just anger, it was _grief._ "What are you going to do?"

Quinn gave an inarticulate cry and threw a book at him. Artie managed to move just in time to avoid being hit. "Who cares what I'm going to do?" Quinn shouted. "Simon is DEAD! Don't you get that? He's DEAD!"

"I'm sorry," he managed. He had absolutely no idea what else to say. "Do you need me to do anything?"

"Just go away," Quinn sobbed. "Go away and leave me alone."

"Okay." He grabbed the first outfit he saw and moved over to his chair. On the way out, he stopped by her. "For what it's worth, I really am sorry, Quinn."

"Just go."

He nodded and left.

***

A price in blood. It was ridiculous on some levels. He definitely didn't think that Simon's suicide- as inexplicable as it was- had to do with any gods. That didn't make any sense. But it occurred to him that there were still Cylons on Kobol, and Cylons could find them here, in orbit around Kobol. And there was no _Galactica_ to protect them all.

He hoped that price in blood wouldn't come true.

He spent the rest of the day in the _Cybele_'s control room, dealing with the wireless. The traffic was so much less than it had been just a day ago.

The next day, at four fifty in the morning, he turned to the frequency that he used to communicate with the _Galactica_. No one was there. He sat and listened to the emptiness.

***

"It's strange," Brittany said as they all sat picking at their lunch. "She's across the galaxy, but I still feel like I can feel her."

No one laughed. Burt put a hand on Brittany's shoulder, the same emotion clear in his eyes.

"It's awful," Rachel agreed, taking a deep breath. "When I think that I could have been on _Cloud 9_ if I hadn't been sent out to research the state of air filters in the Fleet. To have our family torn apart, even more than it already is."

"But you weren't over there," Quinn said sourly.

"Come on, guys," Mr. Schuester interrupted, obviously anxious to avoid a fight. "It's not like the Fleet is going to stay divided forever, right? Artie and Kurt said that President Roslin is down there on Kobol right now with the Arrow of Apollo. Just the fact that anyone managed to get the Arrow off Caprica at all speaks volumes about the Gods, right?"

"Just the fact that the Cylons blew up all but fifty thousand of us speaks volumes about the gods," Kurt muttered. "Ow!" He reached down and rubbed his shin, glaring at Tina all the while.

"Mr. Schuester's right," Tina said, valiantly trying to recover. "Once the President has the map to Earth, we'll go back to the Fleet. Commander Adama might believe her and he might not, but we'll at least be back together."

"Guys," Mike said.

"I wonder how long it will take," Burt mused. "It's a big planet. Trying to find one tomb would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack."

"I wonder if it's even still _standing_," Will said, resting his chin on his hand. "Two thousand years. If they find it, it might just be a pile of rubble."

"Guys," Mike said again, "I'm serious."

"And even if it is still standing, what kind of condition will the map even be in? I mean, if it's written on paper, the paper'd probably be dust by now, wouldn't it?"

"Fine," Mike snapped. "I'll just get up and look out the window and marvel at the rest of the Fleet myself, okay?"

"The Fleet?" Rachel jumped to her feet and sprinted to a window, pressing her nose against the glass. "The Fleet! They found us! They came to us!"

Artie looked at Kurt, who immediately got to his feet. Crowds were forming around the windows, but the buzz of conversation was getting happier and happier. He had a hard time believing it himself, until he was finally able to worm through the crowd and head up to the control room.

The wireless was there, open in front of him. He picked up the headset and slipped it on, and spun the dial to the right channel.

"_Galactica_, this is the _Cybele_. Are you really there?"

"_Cybele_, this is _Galactica._" It was Mercedes. "You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice."

Artie started laughing. He leaned forward, his forehead against the cool metal of the console. Mercedes was right there, right on the other end. That meant Puck and Finn and Santana and Carole and Sam were all there, too. "I might have an idea," he said. "The family's back together, huh?"

"That's right," Mercedes said, and she was laughing too. "The family's back together."

***

It took about eight hours before a Raptor docked in the landing bay. A Raptor, not a shuttle. A real, live Raptor, piloted by Finn "Twinkletoes" Hudson.

"Can you believe it?" he said with a triumphant grin.

"They let you fly one of those things? Well, there's thousands of taxpayer cubits headed up in smoke," Kurt said, but he reached forward and they hugged. Santana was hugging Brittany and Puck was high-fiving Mike and talking to Quinn. Artie sat off to the side, watching with a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"About time I saw you in person again."

He turned to see Mercedes coming out of the Raptor. She was wearing olive green BDUs, and her hair was up in a tight ponytail. She looked happy though, and when she got close enough she bent down and gave Artie a huge hug. "I know you were in on it. You did great," she said, soft enough that no one could hear.

"Adama doesn't know I did anything, does he?" Artie asked.

"He doesn't, but even if he did, I think you'd be off the hook," Mercedes said. She pulled back. "I'm glad you did it. Even if I'm not supposed to be. But I didn't think you were religious."

"I'm not," Artie said with a shrug. "I just got talked into it."

***

The four of them from the _Galactica_ couldn't stay long, but they stayed long enough to do a few things.

"It's stupid," Santana said, but she was smiling as she put her red handprint right next to Brittany's.

"So don't do it." Puck was putting his green one right near Artie's blue one. "But some day, this door's gonna be worth a fortune."

"How?" Mercedes asked, wiping the purple paint off her own hand. "It's not like we ever did that TV show."

"We didn't do the show, but we still could record," Artie explained. "We could get our songs on the wireless. Without the costumes and the choreography, it would be a lot easier."

"That's great!" Finn said, still standing with his arm around his mom's shoulders. He frowned. "But wait. Where would we get something to record with?"

Kurt, Quinn and Artie looked at each other, and then burst into identical evil grins.

***

The planet spun below them, blue and green and streaked with white. It was impossible to tell what was going on down there. Mercedes told them that Adama had gone down with a search party, and that he'd taken Billy Keikeya with him. "If President Roslin will listen to anyone, it's Billy," Mercedes said happily.

"Do you really think they'll find the Tomb?" Tina asked. "Or that Adama will find the President?"

"They really studied the Scriptures before they went down," she said, and then grinned proudly. "I was able to help them out a bit. Gods know they needed it- Commander Adama and Lieutenant Gaeta are not exactly fonts of Scriptural knowledge. But I think they'll find them. Too much has gone right to go wrong now."

Artie didn't know if he agreed about that, but the next night, they sat listening to Adama's speech on the wireless.

"We have struggled since the attacks... trying to rely on one another. Our strength and our only hope as a people is to remain undivided. We haven't always done all we could to insure that. Many people believe that the Scriptures, the letters from the Gods, will lead us to salvation. Maybe they will. But 'the Gods shall lift those who lift each other.' And so, to lift all of us, let me present once again the President of the Colonies, Laura Roslin."

There was clapping, both on the wireless and in the cabin of the _Cybele_. Artie looked around. So many people looked relieved, almost transported. The clapping faded as Roslin began to speak, detailing the map she had found.

_She'd found a map._ The Arrow of Apollo had worked, and she'd found a map. A map that led to Earth. _Earth._ It was real. Artie barely heard the words over the crashing sound in his ears.

All at once, he felt that feeling again. Stronger, more insistent. That feeling of someone else being in the room with him. He tried to tell himself that was ridiculous; aside from the members of New Directions that were there, they were in the cabin. There were a lot of people in the room. But this presence… it wasn't human.

He was making it up. It was all in his mind. If you wanted to believe, you could convince yourself of anything, and he didn't want to believe.

There were no gods. There was no divine plan, no destiny, no pawn pieces in some great cosmic game. And yet, Roslin had found a map. _A map._

"Artie?" Quinn's fingers laced through his.

"What? Did I…"

"You're crying," Quinn said softly.

He raised his hand and touched his cheeks and found that he _was_. "Oh." There was nothing more to say. He looked around and saw a range of expressions on the other faces, from the elation on Tina's face to the calm sadness on Quinn's to the joy on Mike's and the relief on Burt's. Their minds were all on Earth. But the expression that really registered was the one on Kurt's face. "Are you okay?" Artie asked him.

"Didn't you hear?" Kurt asked, his voice high and strained. "Meier is dead."

"Oh." That… that kind of stunned him. It was hard not to feel something, although he had no idea what he was feeling. Kurt looked like he felt the same way.

"And the priestess," Burt added. "What was her name, Eloma?"

"Elosha," Kurt said, and suddenly everything crashed over Artie again.

_"If we find a map, I'll discuss it with you. I promise. But why? I'm just… I'm not anyone important. I'm a kid in a wheelchair with a bad haircut. Why?"_

"Laura wants to save her people. And so do I."

He'd had one conversation with her. One. And yet he didn't know what to say.

***

"Did you guys hear?"

Sam had just gotten in from the _Daru Mozu_. He had dark circles under his eyes and was dirty, and he smelled terrible. Artie could smell him from across the small room as Sam dug through his things for his shower kit.

"About the map?" Mike asked. "Everyone's heard."

"No. Not that." Sam pulled a folded up newspaper from his back pocket. "Check it out. They found another Cylon."

"Really?" Mike caught the paper.

"Yeah. Apparently when that Thrace chick was on Caprica, she found another Cylon, too."

"At least she didn't bring that one back with her," Artie muttered, and then looked at Mike's face. His eyes were comically wide.

"She didn't need to," Sam said with a shrug. "He was already here."

Mike handed Artie the paper, and there was Simon O'Neill, smiling out at them from an old photo clipping.

***

Artie found Quinn in the infirmary, perched on a chair and with a huge book in her lap. Her shoulders were slumped down and she looked very young.

"Quinn."

"Yes?"

Artie handed her the paper. Quinn took it, and read it with furrowed brows. He could see that she read it over and over, shaking her head. "No. No. It's not possible."

"They're sure."

"How can they be sure?" Quinn asked. "How do they know… how do they know _Thrace_ isn't a Cylon? Or the guy she brought back with her? How do they _know_ Simon is? Was? How- no!" She was shaking now, and starting to cry. "He can't be."

"It must be why he committed suicide," Artie mused. Quinn glared at him, and he realized that was probably not the right thing to say right now. "Sorry."

"How can he be a Cylon?" Quinn asked. "He was teaching me everything he knew. And it worked! I helped make people better. No one died under his care. Everyone got better. And he told me…" she wiped furiously at her cheeks. "He told me not to do the blood strike idea because it made me hard! Because it leached away a little of my humanity, denying people something that could help them live. He told me 'don't get too hard. Hold on to… hold on to… hold on to what makes you _good_.' A Cylon wouldn't say that."

Artie blinked. Quinn was right. A Cylon _wouldn't_ say that. "Maybe he was working under cover," he suggested. "Or maybe he didn't know he was a Cylon. Mercedes told me that the Cylon on _Galactica_ insisted she didn't know. Lots of people didn't believe her, though."

Quinn glared at him. "Do you?"

"Actually, yeah. I do." When she didn't answer, Artie continued. "Cylons are machines, right? Programmable? So if you're making one to infiltrate humanity and you don't want them to slip up, the best way to go about it is to program them to think they're really human. Maybe that's what they did with Simon, too."

"But _why_? Why now? Why on the _Cybele_? The _Galactica_ makes sense, but the _Cybele_? He wasn't even supposed to be on this flight, was he? Is that how we escaped?" Quinn's questions were coming faster. "I don't understand!"

"I don't either," Artie admitted. "But it really looks like it's true."

Quinn took a deep breath. "I don't know what to do," she said. "What I should be doing now. I… I just don't _know._"

"You can run the infirmary," Artie said. "You know a lot, and like you said, everything he taught you worked."

Quinn nodded, but her eyes looked far away. "I guess. I guess that's all I can do. Just keep going and hope…." She shook herself, pulling herself back together. She wiped her cheeks on her palms, found a tissue and blew her nose, and then folded the paper in neat, crisp motions. "Thank you for telling me, Artie," she said. "I appreciate it, especially that I found out in private. But if you don't mind, I do have work to do."

"All right. If you need anything-"

"Thank you."

She picked her book back up and sat back down, staring hard at it. Artie got the message and left.

***

Four-fifty in the morning. It had been a few days, but Artie still smiled every time he got to turn that dial to the frequency he used to communicate with _Galactica_. And today was even better. "Good morning, _Galactica_."

"Right on time, _Cybele_," Mercedes said cheerfully. "How's everything over there?"

"Good. I've got some good news about Quinn."

"How's she doing?" Mercedes asked sympathetically.

"Really good, actually. Apparently, before he died, Simon contacted one of the doctors on the _Rising Star_ and told him about Quinn. She's going over there and training now, with Dr. Michael Robert."

"They're sure he's not a Cylon?" Mercedes said.

"You're the one in the CIC. You tell me."

Mercedes laughed. "Well, odds are against it. The Gods wouldn't be that cruel to Quinn."

"That's what she said. And we've got another stroke of luck. Kurt and Billy are taking us to dinner on _Cloud 9_ tomorrow."

"You are lucky," Mercedes said enviously. "Tell Kurt I said 'hi'."

"Actually, Kurt said to let him know the next time you had leave. He really wants to meet up."

"Good. I'll get in touch with him, then. Well, my five minutes are up. Have a good day, _Cybele_."

"You, too, _Galactica._" Artie switched off the channel after Mercedes did and smiled. It was amazing how much a five minute conversation could make a place feel a little more like home.

"Okay. So tell us," Kurt said. "Tell us about this map. If I hear any more about it second hand, I _will_ scream." They were sitting in the same restaurant on _Cloud 9_. Kurt and Billy had been given money to take Artie and Quinn out for a thank-you dinner. It might not be Roslin and Zarek, but Artie had the suspicion the truce was over.

Billy sighed and stretched his hands out. "It was… if I hadn't been there, I swear I wouldn't believe me, either. We went into the tomb, and there were broken statues of the icons of the Twelve Colonies. President Roslin recognized Sagittarius, and Kara Thrace put the arrow into the statue. And when she did… it was like a circuit went on. Then we were in a field and it was dark, and we could see the constellations."

"Amazing," Quinn breathed. Billy flushed.

"It probably was a circuit," Artie said. "The Arrow of Apollo probably completed it somehow. Did you ever go into a V-Club?"

"Virtual reality?" Quinn asked scornfully. "Two thousand years ago?"

"They had spaceships two thousand years ago," Artie said with a shrug. "Why not?"

"That makes sense," Kurt said, tossing his scarf over his shoulder.

"Now that I think about it, it makes complete sense," Billy said, looking a bit embarrassed. "Would the electronics hold up that long?"

"In a sheltered environment like the Tomb, with minimal exposure to the air and elements, it's definitely possible. Especially if they're encased in stone." _Possible_, a little voice in his head whispered. _Not probable._ He ignored it and continued on. "The Thirteenth Tribe must have known where they were going and basically left directions. They- what? Kurt?"

"Nothing. It just… it just hit me that Earth is real."

"Of course it is," Quinn said. "The Scriptures-"

"Quinn, do you really think I care about the Scriptures?" Kurt asked. "But they are based in fact, and… it's a logical explanation. It all does make sense."

Quinn opened her mouth to reply, but Billy interceded. "Whether you believe the Gods were involved or not," he said, "the fact remains that Earth _is_ real and now we really do have a chance to find it. I think this deserves a toast." He lifted his glass. "To President Roslin and Earth!"

"So say we all," the others echoed, and clinked their glasses together.

***

"Artie?" Quinn asked him later that night. "Do you really think it was just a circuit?"

"It was probably a circuit that triggered the map, yes," Artie said. "But…."

"But?"

"Elosha said something to me that day. On the _Astral Queen_," he admitted. "She said that admitting you don't know is the first step to faith. Do you think that's true?"

Quinn had to think about that one for a minute. "I guess so," she said. "It means that your mind is open."

"Yeah. Well, I'm saying it now," Artie said. "I don't know. I don't know what I think. Elosha made me promise to talk to her, but…."

"But now you're lost," Quinn said.

"Yeah. Something like that."

Quinn was silent for a long moment. Then, more tentatively than Artie had ever heard her speak, she said, "If you wanted to talk about it, there are people who would listen. Me. Mercedes. Not push. Just listen."

_Listen._ Artie nodded. "Yeah," he said. "That might work. I guess. I think."

Quinn smiled. "You don't know."

Artie laughed. "Right. I don't know."


	5. In the Service of the Queen

The alarm went off, and Santana smacked it irritably. Unfortunately, it wasn't her alarm, and smacking this one only made it louder.

"What the frak?" Kat groaned, lifting her head and glaring at Santana with bleary eyes. "Turn it off."

"I'm trying," Santana said. The alarm was not helping the headache that was a nasty souvenir from last night. "What did you do to this damn thing?"

"I didn't do anything. It's not my fault you can't turn off a frakking clock." Kat took the clock from Santana's hands and clicked a switch. The alarm stopped. "See, genius?"

"Frak you," Santana said, flopping back down on the bed. She tossed her arm over her eyes. "My head is killing me."

"Told you not to drink so much," Kat said, sitting up. She shimmied into her underwear and pulled her bra over her head. "You ought to get dressed. You know Hot Dog is sitting at the table outside, just waiting for us to come out."

"Next time he should just join us," Santana said.

Kat shrugged as she sorted out their pants. "You want him to? I'm pretty sure he would."

"Not really. You might be frak buddies with him, but I'm not sure I can keep a straight face at the thought of him naked."

"He'd probably just end up watching," Kat said. "Think about it."

"Right." The idea of Hot Dog watching was actually kind of hot, but Santana couldn't bring any enthusiasm to it beyond that. "Whatever."

"Well, get your ass out of bed, Squeezebox." Kat's voice was muffled as she pulled on her tanks. "Briefing in half an hour. See you there."

"I'm coming." The bed was warm and comfortable, especially now that Kat wasn't in it, and Santana wished she could just stay and sleep. Not an option.

She slid out of the bunk and began getting dressed, unconcerned about the fact that yes, Hot Dog _was_ sitting there and he was very obviously trying not to be obvious about watching her. "So," she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder, "since you had your ear pressed to the privacy curtain, I'm sure you heard the whole thing. You gonna join me and Kat next time?"

Hot Dog flushed red. "I… erm…"

It was fun to watch them stammer. "Stop drooling," Santana said, pulling her pants on. "Keep us updated. I'm going to get a shower." Gods knew she needed _some_ way to wake up before the briefing.

***

When she got to the briefing room, Finn was already there. Santana thunked down in the seat next to him, and closed her eyes. "I heard somebody had a good night," Finn said.

"Gods. The pilots gossip worse than New Directions ever did."

"No, actually, I saw you in the rec room."

"I didn't see you."

"Sure you did. You tried to get the others to change my call sign from Twinkletoes to Puffy Nipples."

"Well, they are," Santana said, cracking one eye open. "Not that anyone on _Galactica_ would know. Unless you broke your loser streak last night and got laid?" She smirked. "But oh, I guess you didn't, or they'd be changing your call sign to Five Seconds."

That wiped the smile right off his face. Finn turned red and glared at her, but before he could respond Apollo took the podium. The talking died out into murmurs.

"Right." Apollo looked around the room, fixing each of them with a glare of death that made Santana think he might have actually been a decent teacher, if he hadn't gone all soft and wussed out like Schuester. "We've got a few things on our docket today. There are three refuelings, two scouting missions, and the Colonel has ordered a scatter drill." There was a groan, and a little grin flickered at the edge of Adama's mouth. "I know, I know," he said. "Scatter drills are a pain in the ass. But that's what the Colonel ordered, so that's what we'll do. Got it?"

"Got it, sir," the pilots in answered in something vaguely resembling unison.

Apollo droned on a bit about the refueling and scouting missions, but Santana knew she wasn't on either detail, so she tuned him out. Her head was still sore, and her mouth reminded her she definitely needed to get water sometime soon. On the bright side, Kat was sitting two rows ahead of her and a seat over, so at least the view was decent.

One of the best things that Santana had discovered about being a pilot was that causal sex was almost _expected_. Not that everyone did it- there were always losers like Finn who couldn't get laid even if they strutted around the ready room naked- but when you literally _could_ die the next day, no one blamed you for having a good time when you could. And Santana was more than happy to take advantage of it. It hadn't just been Kat, either. Ivy and Belle both were good for a warm rack at night, and Grace in the CIC and Caroline from the Marines didn't even require the rack or the full night.

Finn nudged her sharply, and Santana snapped her eyes open. She glared at him, and he mouthed _stay awake_ at her. Oops. When _Finn Hudson_ was doing better than she was, she knew she was having a shitty morning. She pried her eyes open and listened to the rest of Apollo's speech, even if it was about as boring as Mr. Schuester's Tauron classes had been back on Gemenon.

"So we're going over to the _Cybele_ at 1900 hours to do the recording for Artie tonight, right?" Finn asked after they'd been dismissed. "I've got a launch code."

"How the hell did you pull that off?" Santana asked.

Finn shrugged. "I said I'd take some stuff over to the _Cybele_ for Doc Cottle. No one cares what I do there after that. Do you really think Artie's gonna get this on the wireless?"

"Like there's anything else worth listening to. I've got to go- I'll see you at seventeen hundred."

"Great." Finn's smile reminded her of an excited puppy. An excited, slobbering puppy with a wagging tail that peed on the floor when it saw the rest of New Directions. "See you then." Finn pounded her on the back and took off, whistling.

When he was gone, Santana let herself really smile.

***

The Raptor landed in the docking bay, and Santana had to restrain herself from jumping out before the airlock blast doors opened. When they did, they were greeted by the small contingent of Mr. Schuester (exactly who Santana was _dying_ to see), Rachel, and Brittany.

"I hope you've been practicing," Rachel said as soon as the Raptor's ramp was down. "I know it's very busy over there on _Galactica_, but you can't expect me to carry the weight of all four of you."

"Chill out," Mercedes said, although she smiled as she said it. "We've probably been singing more than you have. We've been practicing."

"Yeah. Lots of funeral songs," Finn said cheerfully. "Not quite the same."

"It's good to have you guys back on the _Cybele_," Mr. Schuester said, like they didn't come back once a week or something, or like they were going to _stay_. "I'm really excited about the set list we're going to record. It should be something special."

Santana was going to make some smart-ass comment, but Brittany was there and suddenly and finally, Brittany was in her arms. Santana hugged her tight. "About time."

"You could have come over and hugged me," Brittany said.

"Are we just gonna stand around in the docking bay?" Puck asked. "This crate is heavy."

"Come on," Finn said, taking the other end of the crate. "Let's get this to Quinn."

The guys headed out of the docking bay first, followed by Rachel and Mercedes bickering, with Mr. Schue listening to them with a wistful smile. Santana ignored them all and linked her arm through Brittany's.

"I don't suppose we're going to get any time alone while I'm over here, are we?"

"We can see," Brittany said, smiling. "I'm glad you came over."

"I am, too." And she meant it.

The New Directions room looked like it did last time she was over here, with the yellow door with their handprints. Santana touched it when she went in, like she touched the photo of Aerilon every time she left the pilots' ready room. The others were all gathered there, sitting on crates and beds, although Mr. and Mrs. Hummel and Coach Sylvester had made themselves scarce. Santana climbed up on Brittany's bed and sat beside her, at least for now.

"We've already decided on 'Somebody to Love', 'Dog Days', 'Lucky', and 'Don't Rain on My Parade'," Schuester said. "But Paulla also requested we sing this one as well. It's pretty simple, so I think we can handle it."

Santana took the music Schuester handed her and stared at the title, 'It's So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday'. "What's with the doom and gloom?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "I thought President Roslin wanted, like, happiness and bluebirds and stuff."

"She did," Will said, "for the performances. But the wireless station wants- and can use- a bigger variety of music. Apparently people want some more solemn music that they can remember the people they lost to."

"Well, I for one think it's an excellent idea," Rachel said, smiling happily. "Pouring grief into music is what makes stars great. I would be delighted to demonstrate."

"Oh, no," Mercedes interrupted. "You've already got solos on two of the songs, and you're not the only one who can channel pain."

"Mercedes, while I appreciate your enthusiasm and have no wish to belittle the pain that you certainly must feel, do you really think your bolder and more brassy vocals are suited to a subdued song of this nature?"

"Look who's talking, Little Miss Belter!"

"Guys, stop," Mr. Schuester cut in. "Rachel is right that the song requires something more subdued. That's why neither of you have the solo."

"What?" Rachel gasped.

"Who's singing it?"

"Well, first of all, it's a duet. And second…" Mr. Schuester grinned a little. "I thought about giving it to Sam and Quinn, but I think we need to go outside the box on this one," Mr. Schuester said. "I'm giving it to Puck and Kurt."

Puck looked up. "Wait. What?"

It never failed to amaze Santana how Mr. Schuester thought of himself as this inspiring teacher who intuitively knew all about teenagers, and yet was oblivious to what was going on in their heads. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Puck's problem was, especially as Santana scanned the lyrics. _I thought we'd get to see forever, but forever's gone away_ and _I'll take with me the memory to be my sunshine after the rain_ was about as subtle as a maglev train hitting a wall at full speed. But Mr. Schuester just clapped Puck on the shoulder and started taking them all through the harmonies.

Puck and Kurt as duet partners wasn't something Santana had ever thought of, but as they sang the song for the final recording, she wished they'd sung together before. Maybe it was just because of the harmony, or maybe because Kurt was singing like his balls had dropped rather than like a little girl, but their voices actually sounded pretty good together. But more than that, there was a deep emotion in their singing, and although she wasn't going to admit it, she had goosebumps. As the last note died away, and a tense, quiet silence hung over the room. Even _Rachel_ didn't say anything, and Mr. Schuester was smiling.

Puck broke the spell, jerking to his feet. He grabbed Kurt by the arm and practically hauled him out of the room. Kurt, who looked a lot like he had after he'd sung that song for his dad last year, didn't argue. The door slammed shut behind them.

"Wait. Where are they going?" Artie asked.

"Who cares?" Santana shot back. "We've only got a few more hours over here." She wanted it to be a hint for them all to get the frak out of the room, but no one seemed to take it. They all lingered, talking about the recordings and the performances and catching up with Finn and Mercedes.

Brittany squeezed her hand. "Come on," she said, smiling at Santana. She slid off the bed and led Santana out of the New Directions room and down the hall. Santana was about to ask where they were going when Brittany opened the door to a small compartment. The smell of metal and oil was strong when they entered, and dimly Santana realized they must be in Mr. Hummel's workshop. Brittany closed the door behind them and smiled.

Santana's mouth was on Brittany's then, hot and demanding. Brittany molded right to her, and Santana wrapped her arms around Brittany's waist. Soon they were wrapped around each other, half-naked on the workbench. Brittany's skin was warm and smooth under her hands, and the feeling of it flooded her, leaving her desperate.

"Wow," Brittany said when they were done. "That was…."

"Yeah." Santana tucked a lock of hair back behind her ear and tried to slow her own breathing. "That was the hottest sex I've had since the last time I was here."

Brittany's smile froze. "Oh."

"Oh, come on. You've been having sex, too." Santana was sure of it.

"No, I haven't," Brittany said, lifting her chin.

"What, you and the legless wonder haven't rediscovered your long lost love?" The shock hit hard and deep, like a punch in the gut.

"No," Brittany said. "Artie and I agreed a long time ago that we were just going to be friends."

"But we said the same thing, and you still spread your legs for me," Santana pointed out.

Brittany winced. "Things changed when the Cylons attacked. That changed everything."

"All it changed-"

"Was everybody dying. I know. You've said that before." Brittany was sitting on Burt's workbench, swinging her legs. Now she leaned forward. "You know it's not that simple, Santana."

"Yes, it is."

She _hated_ it when Brittany looked at her that way, like she knew something that Santana didn't. "Can I ask you something?" Brittany said. Santana didn't answer. "Why not?" Brittany pressed. "You love me. You always have. Why won't you just let yourself be with me?"

"I _am_ with you," Santana said. Her stomach was tying in knots, and she could hear echoes of the song earlier going through her head. "Look, if you don't want this, you don't have to do it. It doesn't matter to me," she lied with a vicious shrug that was more like trying to stab something with her shoulder. Instead of looking so terribly hurt, Brittany just gave her a skeptical look. "Gods," Santana said. "When I can't get even _you_ to believe me, I'm really off my game."

"What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid of anything, okay?!" Santana began to yank her tanks over her head. "You just missed your chance with me. Come on. Get dressed and let's go find the others."

She was already in a bad mood, but for some reason her mood darkened even more when they found Puck and Kurt up in the converted passenger cabin, a half-empty bottle of whiskey between them. Kurt was slumped over, his head in his folded arms. Puck glared darkly as they approached.

"What's your problem?" Santana asked as Puck's eyes bored into her.

"Frak you."

"Frak you, too," Santana said. She caught Brittany by the hand automatically and pulled her to a different table. "Gods. Something crawled up his ass."

"Maybe he's just thirsty," Brittany suggested. "He doesn't usually get to sing that much in glee."

Santana looked over her shoulder. Puck and Kurt looked so frakking pathetic, drinking themselves into a stupor. Who did that? Especially over a whale-ass like Lauren and a hyper puppy like Blaine, and she was sure that was what they were crying about.

"That is never going to be you or me," Santana told Brittany.

"Of course not. It's Puck and Kurt. I'm really not sure I could rock Puck's buzz cut," Brittany said with a frown. But she actually had the sense to drop the subject of relationships and feelings and all that, so Santana was able to relax for the rest of the time on the _Cybele_. It felt a little flat- kind of boring next to the drinking, card games, and casual sex that she could indulge in over on _Galactica_ when she wasn't flying. But at the same time, when she went back to the _Galactica_, it still felt like she was leaving home.

***

"Action stations, action stations. Set Condition One throughout the ship. This is not a drill." Gaeta's voice cut through the conversation in the room. "Repeat: action stations, action stations."

Santana automatically jumped to her feet, doing up the fastenings on her flight suit. It was starting to feel like a routine now, one that made her blood boil and her mouth taste like metal. This could be _the_ time, the last time, and the possibility made her feel sharp and dangerous.

They were halfway to their Vipers when Commander Adama's voice came over the address system. "Weapons hold!" he bellowed, and Santana stopped in her tracks. "This is the Commander," Adama continued. "The ship that is coming toward us is not a Cylon basestar. It is, in fact, a Colonial battlestar." Santana's eyes widened and conversation exploded all around her. "Report to the flight deck and prepare to be boarded by Admiral Helena Cain and the command crew of the _Pegasus_," Adama ordered, and the PA system clicked off.

It was like an avalanche of people. First just one or two passed her, but it picked up momentum and soon everyone was hustling towards the flight deck. Santana wondered if the _Galactica_ was going to tip over with everyone running over there. But she joined the tide of people, thundering down the metal stairs to the deck and joining the other Viper pilots.

"Get into ranks, people! Look sharp!" Colonel Tigh was yelling. "This isn't recess!"

Santana never had to stand in formal ranks like this. According to some of the pilots who had been around before the attacks, _Galactica_ had relaxed a lot of the stricter traditions. It was kind of weird to see so many of the _Galactica_ personnel right here in one room. What really amazed her was that even with everyone who wasn't absolutely essential to the running of the ship at this very moment gathered here, the huge landing bay was still cavernous. She hadn't realized just how true it was that the _Galactica_ was understaffed until that moment.

She fell into her ranks next to Finn, who was standing with his chest out and shoulders back, like he was attempting to be the perfect picture of a soldier boy. A few rows forward she could see Starbuck in her duty blues, standing to attention next to Commander Adama, President Roslin, and Vice President Baltar. Finn was one thing, but Starbuck's appearance and behavior emphasized how important this was more than anything. That was all she had time to think before the Raptor rolled up from the landing bay.

"Group!" Tigh barked. "Attention!"

Like she wasn't even in control of her limbs, Santana's body obeyed Tigh's voice, snapping to attention. Everyone else in the room did the same, and the Raptor opened. A couple of Marines jumped out, all hard faces and alert eyes as they took up their guard positions. A pilot climbed out next, and he was a considerable improvement, with short hair, a sculpted face and a smirk lingering on the edges of his mouth, followed by a much more serious looking and less attractive pilot, who was wearing a scowl. An older, heavy set, graying colonel who reminded Santana of a pit bull stepped up out next, and Santana straightened up even more as she realized that this was the XO, which meant that the next person would be-

Admiral Cain stepped out, and she was absolutely nothing like what Santana expected.

Admirals were _old_. Old, grizzled men and women who had served for years and years. Adama looked like an Admiral. The woman who stepped out of that Raptor did not. She was probably in her late forties or early fifties, with sleek dark hair and a harsh, elegant face. She stood straight in her duty blues, trim and toned. Every movement she made was deliberate and authoritative, and power radiated off her. Even though there was no physical resemblance, her bearing and her gaze reminded Santana very strongly of Coach Sylvester.

Commander Adama stepped forward and saluted her. "Admiral Cain. Welcome aboard the _Galactica_."

Cain extended her hand. "Commander Adama, it's an honor."

Adama stepped to the side. "Allow me to present to you the President of the Colonies Laura Roslin."

The surprise on Cain's face was visible, but Roslin handled it gracefully. "It's a long story," she said. "Welcome." Santana couldn't see Roslin's face, but she could picture the gracious expression she must be wearing quite clearly.

Cain recovered from her surprise well. "Madam President." She took a step back and looked around the deck at the assembled servicemen and women, all still standing at attention, and raised her voice to address them. "On behalf of the officers and the crew of the _Pegasus_ it's a pleasure to see all of you. Welcome back to the Colonial Fleet."

The flight deck exploded into cheers, and Santana applauded with the rest. Next to her, she heard Finn ask, "Why is she welcoming us to the Colonial Fleet? We're the Fleet."

"Because Admiral Cain outranks Commander Adama," Skulls explained patiently. "So the _Pegasus_ is the flagship now."

"Oh." Finn thought about it. "What does that mean?"

"It means Admiral Cain is in charge."

Santana rolled her eyes and pushed her way closer to the front. People were moving about now, introducing themselves to each other, although the _Galactica_ crew outnumbered the _Pegasus_ party by a long shot. Santana was watching the amusing spectacle of four _Galactica_ Marines swarming one _Pegasus_ one when someone shook her hand.

"Noel Allison. Narcho." Santana looked up to find herself being addressed by the extremely handsome pilot who had gotten off the Raptor first. His smirk was more pronounced up close.

"Santana Lopez," she answered. "Squeezebox."

He raised his eyebrows. "Interesting call sign."

"Yeah, well it makes more sense than yours, sir. What kind of call sign is _Narcho_?"

His smirk deepened. "You ever heard of Jeremy Narcho, the Scorpian porn star?" He waggled his eyebrows at her and winked. "I put him to shame." He immediately turned to the nearest pilot and extended his hand. "Noel Allison. Narcho. Nice to meet you." Santana couldn't help laughing.

The other pilot introduced himself to her only briefly, with a cold "Cole Taylor." Santana didn't care. She squirmed through the crowd, trying to get closer to Admiral Cain.

The Admiral was still talking with Commander Adama and the President, although Santana caught Adama briefly introducing Lieutenant Gaeta, who was so earnest even behind his professional exterior that he gave Santana second hand embarrassment. Santana wasn't sure she'd even know what to say if she _was_ introduced (not that she'd ever tell anyone that), but something drew her to Cain anyway.

She was so confident, moving through the soldiers as if miracles like this happened every day. She touched a shoulder here, shook a hand there, and suddenly, she was in front of Santana.

Santana managed to snap a salute. However, for the first time in a long time, she had absolutely no idea what to say. Cain raised an eyebrow at her, saluted, and then continued on.

Santana waited until she was alone to bang her head against the wall.

***

It wasn't long before _Pegasus_ soldiers were back. This time, several Viper pilots came over in their own ships. They were battle scarred, but in better repair than a lot of the Vipers in the _Galactica_ landing bay. They also looked subtly different from the one she flew.

"That's a Mark VII," someone said behind her, and Santana glanced over her shoulder to see Narcho watching her. "Pretty sweet, huh?"

"I've heard they're a bitch to fly."

"Only if you don't know what you're doing," Narcho said, shrugging carelessly. "A good pilot can handle one, even with the computer refits."

Santana turned back to the Viper. "What are these little raider things painted on?" she asked. "The number of times you've been hit?"

"Ha ha. The number of kills."

She took in the long row of little black raiders. "There've got to be fifty," she said.

"Forty-eight, actually."

Santana looked at Narcho with new respect. "Really? I'm only up to twelve. But I enlisted after the attacks."

Narcho's gaze flicked down to her insignia, and his eyebrows went up. "So you're an ensign and you're at twelve? That's nothing to sneeze at."

Santana frowned. Her own Viper suddenly seemed bare. "I like it," she said, running her fingers over the raiders again. "I wonder how bad Chief would blow a gasket if I started painting mine on."

Narcho smirked. "I dare you to find out."

***

"What the _frak_ are you doing, Ensign?"

Santana looked down at Chief Tyrol from her perch on her Viper's wing. "Painting my kills on my Viper." She paused for a beat. "Chief."

He looked up at her. "Captain Adama clear you to do that?"

"I didn't ask him. Lieutenant Allison suggested it."

Tyrol stared at her like she was an idiot. Santana ignored him and went back to her painting, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. She could feel his eyes on her, and she could imagine the incredulous look on his face.

"Fine," he finally said, shaking his head. "But you're taking the heat for this, Ensign. And next time, don't snitch the paint out of the stores. Ask me for it instead." He walked off, still shaking his head and muttering something about Viper jocks who were all brawn and no brains.

Santana grinned to herself and concentrated on her painting.

***

"Not bad."

Santana stopped in the middle of climbing out of her Viper, then pulled herself together and finished like it was no big deal. "Thank you, sir."

"You keep clipping right," Admiral Cain informed her as she strode out of a Raptor and across the landing deck to Santana's Viiper. She clapped a hand to the cold metal.

"No, I don't. Sir."

"You do. It's partly a flaw in these Mark II Vipers, but a good pilot knows to adjust using the cross controls."

Santana looked up at her Viper. "No one's ever mentioned that," she said, narrowing her eyes. "I'll bear that in mind, sir."

Admiral Cain was still watching her. Santana's mouth was suddenly dry, but in a good way. Something about the way Admiral Cain was assessing her reminded her of Coach Sylvester, but with less crazy.

"Your name?"

"Ensign Santana Lopez, sir."

"Lopez." Cain raised her eyebrows. "Are you Tauron?"

"My parents were."

Cain nodded approvingly. "I am, too," she said. Her eyes unfocused a little, and then she snapped back to the present. She looked at the Viper again and smirked. "Nice artwork."

"Thank you, sir."

"I expect to see more of it. As you were." With a sharp nod, Cain left and headed further down the flight deck. Santana watched her go, and then let her breath out, a smile forming on her lips. She was pretty sure that Admiral Cain didn't hand out praise lightly, and getting noticed by the Admiral was about the best thing that could happen.

***

"Ensign Lopez."

"Captain Adama." Santana stood up as Apollo approached the table in the mess hall where she was sitting with Finn, Mercedes, and Puck. He looked miles away, and he didn't look happy.

"Orders have come down from the brass," Apollo said, his voice clipped and angry. "Some of the pilots are being reassigned. You're going over to the _Pegasus_."

"Yes, sir."

"You've got until seventeen hundred hours to get your gear together. Shuttle leaves then."

"Yes, sir."

With a brief, terse nod at the rest of her table mates, Apollo turned on his heel and headed off. He looked like something had crawled up his ass and died, but Santana didn't care. Orders to transfer to the _Pegasus_. Orders that must have come from Admiral Cain herself. As she sat down, she couldn't help her smug smirk.

Puck, Finn, and Mercedes were all gaping at her like a bunch of idiots. "What?"

"You're going over to the _Pegasus_," Finn said slowly.

Santana blinked. "Seriously? It was that hard to understand?"

"I think he's referring to the fact that the rest of us are staying here on the _Galactica_," Mercedes said dryly. "You know, the whole sticking together, we're all in this together thing?"

"Oh, please. It's not like I'm moving to a different planet." Santana flipped her ponytail back over her shoulder. "I just get to go to the cool ship, unlike you losers."

"The cool ship?" Puck said, scoffing. "I heard they don't even have booze."

"It was a figure of speech, moron," Santana said. "A _joke._ Gods, have those jarheads thumping on your helmet knocked your brains loose?"

"We're going to miss you _so_ much," Mercedes said dryly. "Who else will insult us on a daily basis?"

"Oh, please. Like I won't be seeing enough of you during drills," Santana said, even though it wasn't the same and she knew it. But that didn't mean she had to get all teary-eyed and snot-nosed over it. "Besides, it's not like the funerals are going to stop any time soon." They all grimaced at that.

"And maybe," Finn added, "we'll hear back from that wireless station and they'll want more songs."

"Whatever," Santana said, shrugging and standing up. "I've got to go pack. You heard Apollo- my shuttle's leaving at seventeen hundred." She tried to look bored, but Mercedes wasn't fooled. She stood up and hugged Santana.

"We'll be there to say goodbye."

***

Santana didn't have much on _Galactica_; just the contents of the suitcase that she'd initially brought and the gear she'd been issued. A framed picture of her and Brittany and a couple of unframed ones in her locker. There was one of all of New Directions, one of her grandmother, one of her and her mom, and one of Dave. She took them all down and slipped them into her bag without so much as looking at them. She didn't feel like she was really leaving, probably because the _Galactica_ wasn't really home.

She would miss some of the people, though. She made sure she said goodbye to Belle and Ivy, and she hugged Kat and Hot Dog long and hard. But when she made it to the flight deck and saw Puck, Mercedes, and Finn waiting to say goodbye to her, she had to hide for a minute and wipe the tears out of the corner of her eyes. Then she squared her shoulders, hoisted her bag up more firmly, and put on her best _I don't care_ expression as she strode out onto the flight deck.

Finn had his hands shoved in his pockets and Puck was standing against the wall with his arms crossed. It was Mercedes who met her, with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face as she hugged her goodbye.

"Stay safe," Mercedes said.

"You, too." Santana looked at the three of them, suddenly embarrassingly aware of how much she _did_ give a shit about them. Not that she'd show it. "You're not going to sing me off or something cheesy, are you?" she asked, as disdainfully as she could manage.

"We could," Finn suggested. "_All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go, I'm standing here outside your door. I hate to wake you up to say goodbye…"_

Puck perked up and joined in. "_But the dawn is breaking this early morn…._"

"Oh my gods. You two are making total asses of yourself." People were turning to stare, but Puck and Finn were only feeding off the audience, and now Mercedes was joining in with a descant. When the chorus came, the three of them were belting the words and Santana was laughing. Puck picked her up and hugged her, and then passed her to Finn without even putting her down. Finn hoisted her so high she had to reach down to pound on his shoulders to let her down.

_I'm leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again.  
Oh babe, I hate to go…_

It was the best send off she ever could have asked for, especially as she saw Apollo frowning fiercely. But whatever- it wasn't like he was her CAG anymore, and they weren't hurting anything. She climbed into her Viper with a toss of her hair and a swagger in her hips, turning around long enough to wink at Puck, Mercedes, and Finn as they stood together in a group. She didn't let her face relax until she sat back in her seat. Then she closed her eyes and sighed. The one thing she would miss would be the people.

***

Santana's melancholy didn't last long at all. The _Pegasus_ loomed in front of her, and it looked even bigger than the _Galactica._ She leaned forward eagerly. The hull was nowhere near as battered and worn as _Galactica_'s, although it still showed signs of battle. And it was _huge_. She'd seen the _Pegasus_ out the window before, and even from the cockpit of her Viper, but that wasn't the same as it was now, approaching and knowing that this was her ship now.

"Squeezebox, this is _Pegasus_," a man's voice said into her ear. It did seem a little weird for it not to be Dee or Mercedes, but this guy had a smooth, calming voice that Santana liked, too. "You're cleared for landing, and let me be the first to welcome you to the _Pegasus._"

"Thanks," Santana said, flipping controls. "You got a name to go with that voice?"

"Lieutenant Hoshi, Ensign. Come on home."

_Come on home._ Santana's smile nearly split her face as she guided her Viper in.

***

Santana had only had time to claim her rack and put her bag down when Narcho grabbed her by the arm. "Captain Case needs to see you," he said, dragging her out of the racks and down the corridor. Santana followed, trying to commit their route to memory. It was hard, because the corridors were all sleek and modern and looked the same. Finally, they ended up in the pilot's ready room, which looked a lot more professional and businesslike than _Galactica_'s.

"Showboat," Narcho said, and a woman turned around. She had short blonde hair, skin that would make Kurt jealous, and cheekbones that could cut glass. Narcho pushed Santana forward. "Got one for you to take out."

Showboat looked bored. "Goodie. Which _Galactica_ goon did I get?"

"This is Squeezebox. Ensign Lopez." Narcho paused. "She's the one who painted the kills on her Viper."

"Oh." Showboat's expression shifted perceptibly and she looked Santana up and down. "All right. Squeezebox, let's go. I need to see what you can do."

Translation: it was time to show off. "Yes, sir," Santana said. She thought that Showboat would take her to the simulator, but instead, they headed down to the landing bay. Showboat stopped by Santana's Viper.

"I haven't seen a Mark II since I was a kid," she said, running her hand over the hull. "My mom used to let me sit in hers when I was little." Her frown was sharp and angry. "She could have taken out hundreds of raiders in one of these."

"Yeah, well, she's not here so I guess we're going to have to do it."

Showboat narrowed her eyes and glared at Santana, and too late Santana realized just how bad that sounded. Not that it mattered, because it was _true._ Showboat must have realized that, because she nodded sharply. "All right. Get in and let's go." Santana obeyed, and in moments they were out flying out into space.

As they began to fly, Santana saw exactly how Showboat got her call sign. Her flying was all big fancy moves and sharp angles, but at the same time, it was devastatingly precise. Santana mimicked her, cautiously at first as she tried out what Admiral Cain had told her about the cross control. It was awkward at first, but once she got the hang of it, she could _feel_ the difference, and it felt _great_. Freer, more dangerous, more deadly. As her confidence increased, her Viper wove in formation with Showboat's. Showboat kept barking orders over the wireless, but as they flew, Santana was certain that her voice was growing warmer and warmer.

Other Vipers were out training, too, and one broke off to drop right in between them. It was a move that Apollo would have shouted at them for trying and Starbuck would have done, and Santana turned her head to see what other lunatic would do something like that. Even through the glass of the cockpit and the visors of their helmets, she could see Narcho's wink.

"You're an asshole, sir," she dared to tell him over the communicator.

"I like this one, Showboat," Narcho said happily.

"She's certainly a good judge of character. All right, Narcho. Get your ass out of here and let us finish our girl talk, will you?"

"You girls," Narcho said, lifting out. "Always fixing your makeup and your hair. It's always the same." But he obediently flew away.

"Come on, Squeezebox," Showboat said. "I've been taking it easy on you. It's time to show me what you've really got."

To Santana, it felt like they flew for a few more minutes, but when they finally landed, her hair was wet with sweat and her fuel gauge indicated that she was near empty. But Narcho and a few other pilots were waiting for them, and when Santana got out of her Viper, there was a smattering of applause.

"Think you found a wingman, Marcia," Captain Taylor said, knocking Santana on the shoulder as he headed back to wherever he was going.

"She'll do," Showboat said. She looked at Santana. "Hit the showers. I want you in the rec room in twenty to discuss some things."

"Yes, sir." Santana saluted and hustled off.

***

The _Pegasus_ rec room was different from the _Galactica_'s. The _Galactica_'s reminded Santana of a den or a pool hall. The _Pegasus_'s had a lot of glass and clear tables and fancy chairs, and looked more like a high-end bar. The Colonial banners hung on the walls, but there were no military pictures or plaques. The _Galactica_ was the veterans' hall, the _Pegasus_ was the officers' club.

Showboat had a table for them and some diagrams. The diagrams reminded Santana of the pyamid play book, with little symbols and arrows and everything. "Come on," Showboat said without any preamble. "I want to show you some of our attack formations."

Showboat had gone over five of them with Santana when there was the thump of someone sitting down at their table. "I didn't think you guys were being literal when you said 'by the book'," Starbuck said.

Showboat looked up, obviously displeased at the interruption. "Doesn't _Galactica_ have a tactics manual?"

"Somewhere," Starbuck said with a shrug. "Not that we show it to nuggets."

"She's not a nugget. She's an ensign." Starbuck shrugged, but she didn't argue the point. Instead, she just studied Santana. Santana met her glare evenly. Starbuck didn't look happy at all about being over here on the _Pegasus_, if the drink and the sulk were any indication. Showboat didn't seem at all impressed. "Pilots learn the tactics manual on the _Pegasus_. That's how it goes."

"Because precise, ordered military flying works so well against toasters."

Showboat leaned forward on her forearms. "We've been taking them on, and we're still alive. Don't underestimate the rules, lieutenant. Especially on the _Pegasus._"

Starbuck cocked her eyebrows. "Is that a warning, Captain?"

Showboat was still even. "No. Just friendly advice."

Starbuck stood up. "I see. Well, if friendly advice is the thing around here, let me give you some. She's a good pilot. Don't frak up her head so much with these tactics that she can't still think for herself when she's out there." Starbuck winked. "Have fun with your book, ladies."

Showboat watched her stride off. "Is she always like that?" she asked Santana.

"No. Usually she's worse." Santana frowned. "She is a good instructor, though."

"She is," Showboat allowed. "You're proof of that. But we do things different on the _Pegasus_."

"Yes, sir." Santana took it as the order it likely was. "Should we get back to the book? You said we still have more to get through."

Showboat's smile was approving, and Santana smiled back.

Santana had never been to Commander Adama's quarters. Now she stood in front of Admiral Cain's door, checked her uniform one more time, ran a palm over her hair, and knocked.

"Come in."

She opened the door to the sound of laughter. Very, very familiar laughter. And perhaps she shouldn't have been surprised to see Coach Sylvester sitting across from Admiral Cain. The study itself was angles and recessed lighting, and the two women were sitting in leather chairs and actually smiling at each other.

"Oh, but I tell you, the last time I used a missile launcher was five years ago, when I spent the school break personally playing diplomat between the representatives from Gemenon and Sagittaron. So I'm really looking forward to the opportunity again," Coach Sylvester said.

Admiral Cain smiled. "We'll see what we can do for you." She and Coach Sylvester both stood up, and Admiral Cain glanced at her clock. Her eyebrows went up a little. "Right on time to the minute," she said.

"Of course she is." If Coach Sylvester was surprised to see Santana, she didn't show it. "You think I'd tolerate anything less from one of my girls?" Which was true- she didn't. Santana had been late _once_, her freshman year. She had never, ever been late again.

Cain didn't seem to care though. Instead, she was looking Santana up and down with an approving sort of glance. "I've been talking to my CAG," she said. "He's been rather despairing of the _Galactica_ pilots."

"Sir?"

"He says the flight skills are adequate, but that there's a certain… laxness in discipline. It could make the crews difficult to integrate." She focused hard on Santana. "Do you agree?"

"Yes, sir." She wasn't just saying that, either. She'd noticed the difference in the _Pegasus_ crew already, even though she'd only been here a day.

Cain smirked. "You enlisted after the attacks, am I right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

Santana blinked. "Why wouldn't I?" she said before she could think better of it. "They nuked the Colonies. I'm not going to take that lying down."

Cain's smirk widened into a real smile. "That's what I thought." She picked a small box up off her desk. "Captain Case says she wants you as her wingman. Captain Taylor says it's a good idea, but a captain shouldn't be having her back watched by an ensign. So congratulations, lieutenant."

Santana's breath caught in her throat. _Lieutenant._ She hadn't been expecting that title for a long time. She took the box from Admiral Cain, looking at the junior lieutenant pins. "Thank you, sir," she said, smiling. Because it was about time someone noticed how damn good she was at the things she did.

"Don't disappoint me," Cain said. "You're dismissed."

Santana saluted one more time and left Cain's quarters. Out in the hall, she studied her new pins. They were bright diamonds, silver with a smaller diamond inside, and a yellow background instead of the plain metal ones like her ensign pins. She stepped back against the wall to take her old pins off and put the new ones on.

"Well, well, well. Lieutenant Jugs."

Santana finished getting the one pin in place before she looked at Coach Sylvester, who had emerged from Cain's quarters alone. "What are you even _doing_ over here?"

"Me? It seems that the Admiral knew a thing or two about history and had heard about my parents, who were famous Cylon hunters. She wanted a little intel from the expert."

"Right. If they were famous Cylon hunters, why didn't they know Cylons can look human?"

"I never said they were that good at it." Coach Sylvester looked her up and down. "So you're over on the _Pegasus_, sucking up to the Admiral."

"I'm not sucking up." She touched the pins on her collar. "Just because you never put me at the top of the pyramid didn't mean no one else would."

"Sure it does, Boobilicious. I'm an excellent judge of talent and character. And so is Admiral Hardass in there. She knows what she's doing."

A flicker of doubt shot through Santana. "What's she doing?"

"She's holding you up as an example. You play nice and play by her rules, you get rewarded."

"What the hell is wrong with that?" Santana asked.

"Absolutely nothing… as long as you're willing to play by her rules. And if you don't…." Sue made a slicing motion across her throat. "Well, I've got to go- I need to get back to the _Cybele_ and brief old Xu about when I can get the supplies I pilfered back to her. See ya, Hooters." Sue clapped her on the shoulder and walked off. Santana stared after her in disgust.

"Who was that?"

Santana turned to see Narcho watching her. She shrugged. "My old cheerleading coach."

"You were a cheerleader?" His eyes lit up with an evil sort of glee. "Can I change your call sign? Please?"

"Only if I get to change yours."

Narcho reconsidered quickly. "Yeah, on second thought, I'll pass on that. Come on. I see you've got some shiny new jewelry. You know what happens when someone gets shiny new jewelry?"

"We get drunk to celebrate?"

"We get drunk to celebrate," Narcho agreed, slinging his arm over Santana's shoulder. "Come on. One thing about those _Galactica_ guys- they can make booze. Let's go get smashed."

***

Santana was drunk. She was trying to hide it, but the room was starting to spin a little and she was pretty sure she was going to hurl sometime tonight. If there really were gods, she'd do it sometime when the other pilots weren't watching her. Or they'd decide to punish her, and she'd puke on Narcho's shoes. Which might not happen if he wasn't hovering over her shoulder, breathing down her neck.

They were drinking with several of the pilots, as well as a few bridge bunnies from the CIC, including Lieutenant Hoshi. From his voice, Santana had expected him to be tall, powerful, and kind of smooth. Instead, he was a thin, slightly gawky man of average height, overlarge eyes, and a haircut that looked like he used a pudding bowl as a guide. It shot Santana's idea that communications officers were sexy straight to hell.

Showboat poured Santana another shot, and against her better judgment, Santana took it. "You're gonna make an awesome wingman," Showboat told her.

"I know," Santana said, too drunk to be tactful.

"That's not a compliment," Showboat said. "That's an order." She poured herself another shot. "My last wingman was Lilac."

"Who's Lilac?"

"Who was Lilac, you mean." This time, Showboat's voice was full of bitterness. "She was one hell of a pilot, that's who she was." She drifted off, glaring at the half-empty liquor bottle like it was the bottle's fault.

It was Hoshi who told her the story after Showboat nearly passed out. "Lilac wasn't that amazing of a pilot," he told Santana as Narcho helped Showboat back to her racks. "Yes, she was good, but she wasn't nearly the flier that Marcia is."

"Then what was so special about her?"

Hoshi focused on his glass, rolling it between his hands. "She was Marcia's best friend. Marcia could trust her like she trusted no one else. That's why she thought she was such a great wingman."

"Oh." Santana stared down at her drink. "What happened?"

Hoshi's silence surprised her. She looked up, only to see him frowning intensely at the table. "What?" she said, scenting gossip. _Big_ gossip. "Tell me."

"It happened a few weeks after the attacks," he said, and then knocked back his entire glass. He grimaced at the taste and the afterburn, and then went on. "The _Pegasus_… we were the only ones left. This was it. This was _all._ And we weren't running away and making babies. We were… all that was left was to fight."

"So Lilac died in a fight," Santana said. "What's the big deal?"

Hoshi poured himself another shot. "The big deal," he said slowly, "is that… look. You're going to hear this anyway. Everyone on the _Pegasus_ knows what happened. Everyone talks about it, but we pretend we don't. Okay? There was this plan- we thought we were going after a comm relay. Have you ever seen one?" Santana shook her head. "Well, they aren't that big. And they aren't that well defended. But it ended up being fifteen squadrons of raiders." He swallowed. "I can still see them showing up on the DRADIS."

"It was an ambush?" Santana asked.

Hoshi shook his head. "They had no idea we were there. Until we attacked."

"We attacked what?" Narcho asked, dropping back down to the table. He took one look at Hoshi's face and said, "Oh. _That._"

"_What?_" Santana demanded.

"I'm going to go check on Showboat." Hoshi lurched to his feet.

"Why? She's fine. Narcho just came from- oh, never mind," she said as he made his way out of the rec room. She spun on Narcho instead. "Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?"

"Fifteen squadrons of raiders," Narcho said, his voice flat and no humor in his face. "Admiral Cain ordered the attack."

"So? You were taking on the toasters. Attacking is what you _do_."

"Santana, fifteen squadrons of raiders was too much. Even for us. And Colonel Belzan, he knew it."

"Who the hell is Colonel Belzan?"

"The XO, before Cain shot him."

Of all the things that Narcho could have said, that was one of the last that she expected. Her mouth gaped open. "What?"

"Look. I don't expect you to understand this, okay?"

"I can understand just fine. I-"

"No. You can't." Narcho's mouth was set in a straight line. "You've got a civilian fleet. You _were_ a civilian. You know what it's like to have people around you, to have people depending on you. What you don't know is what it's like to be completely alone. To think you're the last two thousand people in the universe. You don't know what it's like to walk that line, to _know_ you're going to die, but to have the one goal of frakking over as many of those bastards as you can."

"Says who? That is exactly what is going to happen to me."

Narcho blinked. "What do you mean?"

"What the frak do you think I mean? Do you think I joined up because of some kind of honor and glory thing? I'm not that stupid. I know what the life span of fighter pilots is like. I knew it before I ever set foot on _Galactica._ That's the _point._ I get to pick how I die, and I choose shooting down toasters."

Narcho nodded slowly. "Then maybe you do get it," he said. "Anyway, Belzan didn't. Belzan wouldn't order that attack. And so Admiral Cain shot him with his own sidearm." Santana couldn't quite find her voice. Narcho took that as shock. "Louis…" he said, nodding at the door Hoshi had left through. "Louis was close to Colonel Belzan. Real close. To Admiral Cain, too, for that matter. He was in the CIC when it happened."

"Gods."

Narcho shrugged. "The way I figure it, she had a point. I mean, if you're at war, you've _got_ to do what your commanding officer orders." His eyes were hard and his jaw was set. "Besides, if we're all gonna die, that would have been one hell of a way to go. And a lot of people did die in that attack. Including- and I'm guessing this is what started the conversation- Lilac."

"Yeah."

"Yeah. Let's not talk about it anymore," Narcho said, pouring two shots and bolting one and then the other. "Come on. You just got a promotion. Enjoy it."

"Right." Santana pushed the thought away. But oddly enough, the story didn't hit her as hard as it might have. Maybe it was because she was drunk, or because the story had a vaguely unbelievable feel to it, or maybe because she was used to Coach Sylvester, who didn't give a shit about anyone's well-being as long as the Cheerios took the All-Colony Championship. What had hit her more was the story of Showboat and Lilac. "What was her name?" Santana asked. "Her real name?"

"Whose?"

"Lilac's."

"Oh. Anne. Anne Cramer."

"Did she put her picture on the Wall?"

"What wall?" Narcho shrugged. "Look, I don't do well talking about this sort of stuff drunk. I liked Annie too, and if we keep talking about this I'm going to end up crying on your shoulder."

"Weepy drunk," Santana muttered.

"Huh? Whatever. Anyway, come on. Let's change the subject."

It sounded like a good idea. Santana pushed her glass towards him. "Pour me more and I will."

***

Her head was pounding and her mouth was dry, and Santana was pretty sure the morning couldn't get any worse. She lifted a hand to her head and heard a groan. Not her own groan. She turned her head.

"Oh my gods. I slept with _you_?"

"No you didn't," Narcho muttered. "No way." He scrubbed his face with his hands. His chest was bare, and Santana lifted the covers.

"We're both naked."

"Oh." Narcho didn't seem to find this shocking. Santana was rather revolted with herself.

"Oh, gods. I can't believe I slept with _you_."

"So you said. I'm starting to get a bit of a complex here."

"Shut up. It's not like that." Not that it was that bad, for a guy, but still. "We're not doing it again, though."

"Fine with me." He kicked the covers off. "Don't take this wrong, but I don't think I could do you if I wasn't drunk."

"Same. I don't know why I did you when I was drunk. I'm not in the habit of frakking my gay guy friends."

He didn't seem at all surprised that she'd figured it out. "No?"

She pulled her knees up to her chest and looked at the wall where she had her pictures taped, her hair falling loose over her bare back. "No. Believe me, frakking Dave was the last thing on my mind. I mean, granted, he's not as hot as you are, and we started hanging out because I blackmailed him, but…"

"But what?" he asked when she didn't continue.

"Nothing. None of it means anything anyway." She slid out of her bunk and started hunting for her clothes, tossing Narcho's aside with more force than she needed. "He was an asshole, anyway."

"Then why were you friends with him?"

Santana shrugged. "I don't know. He was fun to hang out with once we got used to it." Narcho looked confused, so she explained, "We were pretending to date. So people wouldn't figure it out."

"Figure _what_ out?"

"That we were gay, moron."

Narcho still looked confused. "Why would anyone care about that?"

"Uh, have you ever read the Scrolls?"

"No. I think I was supposed to when I was a kid, but I never bothered. So people really care about that?"

"On Gemenon they do."

"Huh." Narcho folded his arms behind his head, trying to take it in. "Nope. Still not getting it. I mean, Colonel Belzan was from Gemenon, and he and the Admiral were real close. He was religious, too, and he never said anything like that, to her or to Hoshi."

"How do you know?"

"If someone told Admiral Cain she was wrong for sleeping with women- hell, if anyone said anything about the Admiral's sex life to her face without direct permission- how long do _you_ think they'd last?"

Santana gaped at him. "Admiral Cain is _gay_?" she finally managed to ask. She'd caught on to Narcho and hadn't given a shit about Hoshi, but Cain had completely escaped her notice.

"Sure." A dark shadow flitted over Narcho's face. "Although remember what I said about saying anything about her sex life to her face."

"I don't care about her frakking sex life," Santana said. "I'm more… she's the _Admiral._"

"Well, yes."

"You don't get it. On Gemenon, if you're gay, you don't get to be Admiral. Not without a lot of fuss. You don't get shot or anything, either, but if you walk down the hall holding a girl's hand, you get harassed in the halls and shoved into lockers and called names and things thrown at you…" Santana kicked at Narcho's pants angrily. "You get threatening phone calls and piss balloons or slushies thrown at you and your furniture nailed to the roof of your house and driven out of your school. You don't get promoted to lieutenant because you can fly well and you don't make it all the way to Admiral, especially that young!"

"Yeah, well, in the rest of the Colonies you do." Narcho finally got up. "I have really got to piss. And we'd better hurry. If we're late for briefing, you can kiss those lieutenant pins goodbye." He grabbed his pants and headed for the head, not even bothering to put them on. Santana stared after him, and then shook her head.

Admiral Cain was gay. The thought just… it shot through her head like a rocket, lighting up everything in its path. She'd known that the other Colonies were different. Kurt had always said he would move to Caprica or Libron, and no one had ever doubted him. And hell, everyone on _Galactica_ knew that Santana would much rather sleep with a woman than a man, just like they all knew that Caroline or Belle would, or that Lieutenant Gaeta or Sergeant Nowart were into guys, or Kat or Ivy or Twofer would do pretty much _anybody._ But somehow, that hadn't changed things in her head. Admiral Cain being gay did. Because Admiral Cain got _respect_. It was like the ultimate confirmation of what she'd been afraid to believe, that this part of her life was no longer too good to be true. Now it was _real_.

She finished dressing, feeling a little better and a little stronger, and headed for the briefing.

***

Santana saw Admiral Cain from a distance after the briefing as Cain walked to the CIC, Fisk and Hoshi in tow. She was speaking quickly, authoritatively, and they were the models of submission. The picture of respect. Santana's eyes followed her hungrily until Cain disappeared through those glass doors, into the throne room of not just the _Pegasus_, but the entire Fleet.

***

The _Galactica_ Raptor pilots were coming over for simulator practice, and Santana was waiting on the deck with a well-hidden eagerness. When three Raptors landed, Santana couldn't help smiling as she saw the nameplate on one. _Finn Hudson. "Twinkletoes"_. Technically, she was off-duty, but she had to be there. The chance to lord her new rank over Hudson was way too good to pass up.

"Wow," Finn said, looking around as he climbed out last. "This place is really something."

"This is just the landing bay," Santana said dismissively. "Wait until you see the rest of the ship."

Finn grinned at her, and then turned back around. He was gaping like a landed fish, and Santana smacked him on the arm before he made a total fool of himself. "Come on," she said. "I'll escort you to the simulator."

"Okay." Finn looked at her doubtfully as she took his arm. And then he finally noticed her pins. "Wait- what?"

Santana smirked up at him. "Read em and weep, Hudson. Told you I'd make lieutenant first."

"But you just transferred over! Like, forty-eight hours ago!"

"I'm good." She couldn't help the strut in her step. "You'll tell _Private_ Puckerman."

"Yeah. It won't shut him up or anything, but I'll tell him. And Mercedes." Finn was staring at her in a disbelieving sort of awe. "Wow. I mean… wow."

"It's awesome," Santana said smugly. There was another reason she'd been so eager for Finn's arrival, not that she'd ever admit it. "I'm going to assume you're still as pathetic and boring as ever, but what about Mercedes? Is she doing that knuckledragger Grayson yet?"

"Huh? Oh, him. No. But it's really funny to hear her talk about him. I don't think she likes him that much."

"Right. So, what's going on with everyone else? I know Mercedes gets all the good gossip from Artie."

"Um, Sam's still dating that girl over on the _Daru Mozu_ or whatever."

"Rya Kibby. I could care less what Trouty Mouth is up to. Get to the good stuff."

Finn shrugged. "Mom and Burt caught Tina and Mike going at it, Puck's got somebody he's frakking but won't say who, and Mr. Schue is eyeing up Captain Xu. Oh, wow, that's just bad."

"I know. Schuester having sex is nauseating," Santana agreed.

"No, I meant the names. Schue, Xu… never mind. Coach Sylvester managed to get a whole bunch of parts for the _Cybele_, but Brittany says that she's still saying that Mr. Schuester is a Cylon and he should be shoved out the airlock. Oh, she's also now saying that Rachel shouldn't be reporting on _Cloud 9_ ever. I think there was almost a hair-pulling fight over that one."

"I'll bet."

"Oh! But Rachel's got a story about music on the wireless!" Finn said. Santana was about to say that she didn't care when he dropped the bomb. "It's going to be on at, like two hundred hours tonight, but they're going to premiere one of our songs."

"Don't Rain on My Parade?" Santana sighed, because if Rachel was reporting it would be a Rachel song.

"No. The one Kurt and Puck sang lead on," Finn said. "Although apparently it was quite a fight with Rachel and the producers. You gonna watch?"

"I might," Santana said, but Finn arched his eyebrow at her, and she knew he knew that she would. She changed the subject and led him to the simulator, and then retreated. Of course she was going to watch it. She just wished it wasn't with that song.

***

"_I don't know where this road is going to lead  
All I know is where we've been and what we've been through…_"

Puck's voice wasn't as clear as usual- there was a roughness to it that Santana hadn't heard before in his singing. It contrasted perfectly with Kurt's descant, which still had that clear tone, but felt like it was going to rip her heart out of her chest. Not that she would ever say that. She sat very still, listening to the final recording. She wasn't the only one.

Santana hadn't mentioned anything about Rachel's story, and was planning on denying her decision to watch it. But when she tried to claim the rec room television five minutes before the start, her competition was a girl-on-girl porn video. Explanations had been required, and the only reason that the others had agreed to it was exclusively to harass her and because the porn video could be paused. And it was kind of worth it to hear some of the comments the others were making about Rachel with her kitten sweater and over-earnest, annoying smile.

Then Rachel pressed play on the song. There was no video component to the recording that they'd put together, but someone had made one. It was just a slideshow of snapshots, focusing on the Twelve Colonies. When the song started, there had been a few mocking hoots, but by the end of the first stanza there was only silence from the soldiers.

When they'd recorded it, Santana had been so focused on her own part that the real impact of the piece hadn't hit her. Listening to it without singing was a different experience.

"This is your group?" Narcho asked incredulously. Santana nodded. "Shit."

The song ended, and Rachel came back on, her perky smile clashing with the somber mood in the rec room.

"Turn it off," Showboat said.

"I don't know," one of the pilots leered. "I'm kind of digging the Sisters of Athena schoolgirl look this chick's got going on."

Showboat scowled. "Turn it off. I can't take her smile right now."

"What? It's just Berry," Santana said. "She's like that. I know it's weird to watch that plastic fake smile but-"

Showboat stood up. "I'm not watching it." She grabbed Santana's arm and yanked her to her feet. "Come on."

Showboat led her down through the corridors, side by side in silence. Santana had no idea where they were going , but she could feel the air thicken as they walked, any humor leaching off Showboat's face, leaving it looking like it had been carved out of marble. Santana wanted to ask where they were going, but something told her not to.

The brig was behind a heavy hatch door. A stiff-faced Marine let them in. Santana had been down in the _Galactia_ brig once or twice when Puck had guard duty. That one looked like an old jail, with bars and cells. This one didn't. The walls were thick, heavy, bulletproof plastic that were transparent from floor to ceiling, leaving the prisoners with no privacy. A few of the cells had prisoners, most of them asleep. Showboat walked by them.

"Here," she said, stopping. "This one."

Santana stopped and looked in, and then pulled back in disgust. There, on the floor, was a woman. Sort of. She'd seen the pictures of the tall, thin blonde woman, and she'd seen the captions underneath. Cylon.

She was lying on the floor, wearing only a soiled shift, her arms chained behind her back and a heavy collar around her throat. Her skin was marred with bruises and cuts, her hair was lank and filthy, and she didn't move.

"She was on board during the attacks," Showboat said, her voice rough with hate. "No. She was here before that. For a while. She and the Admiral…" Showboat's voice cracked and her fists clenched. "I can't blame the Admiral," she said, still staring at the thing inside the cell. "She looks so frakking _real_. I talked to her myself."

"What happened? To it, I mean?"

"No less than it deserved." Showboat spat angrily. "Everything you're thinking and more."

She should be appalled- Santana knew that. But she couldn't be. She looked at that _thing_ lying in the cell and she thought of her mother and her father and her grandmother, she thought of Dave and she thought of what could still happen to the _Cybele_ and what could happen to Brittany. Of what could happen to Brittany the day the Cylons shot Santana down, and her Viper went up in an explosion of sparks. She looked at Showboat standing next to her, clenched fists and red splotches on her cheeks.

"I miss Anne," Showboat confessed quietly. "We'd been flying together for ten years. It doesn't feel right flying without her."

_And I'm only a weak substitute._ And yet, it felt like a huge honor. Santana put her hand on Marcia's shoulder and squeezed. Marcia covered her hand with hers for a second and squeezed back.

"One of these days, there's going to be a reckoning," Showboat said quietly. "One of these days, they'll all pay for what they've done. A hundred times over."

Santana looked at the broken thing on the floor and nodded. The millions of souls lost could never be borne on a single set of shoulders. Her heart hardened further and she was glad of the glass, because otherwise she might go in and kick it in the ribs, in the shins, in the face. "They'll pay," she said. "So say we all."

***

"Holy shit- did you hear?" The rumor whipped through the _Pegasus_ just as fast as a rumor would in McKinley or on _Galactica._ "Lieutenant Thorne is dead."

Santana heard it in the rec room. "What the hell happened?" Narcho asked Hoshi, who'd been the one to tell them the news.

Hoshi slipped into the chair across from Santana. "Over on _Galactica_," he said. "He was interrogating their Cylon prisoner, and I guess one of the pilots and the deck chief didn't like that." His eyes bored into Narcho, and Narcho glared down at the table. "They wanted to put a stop to it."

"Shit," Showboat said slowly.

A pilot and the deck chief. Santana wasn't surprised. Everyone knew about Tyrol's affair with that Boomer thing, and Agathon had been shouting about this Eight being different ever since he'd come back aboard the _Galactica_, that she wasn't Boomer. It didn't matter, though. She was a still a Cylon. She remembered that wrecked form of the Cylon down in the brig. She remembered the days after Commander Adama was shot, and that wrenching hopeless fear that spread through the Fleet like wildfire, the fear that without him, they'd be doomed. She'd been able to taste it in the back of her throat, bitter and dry, even as she pretended she didn't.

She became aware that Showboat, Hoshi, and Narcho were watching her, waiting for her reaction. Measuring her. "What?" she snapped, picking up her fork.

"Did you know them?" Hoshi said slowly. His face was a mask, and Santana would bet money this was what he looked like in the CIC.

"Who doesn't know a deck chief?" Santana asked with a shrug. "And I never so much as spoke to Agathon." Finn had though, and said he was a good guy. But then, Finn was an idiot.

"They're _Galactica_," Showboat said slowly, and Santana suddenly realized this was a test. It was them against her. She shrugged fiercely.

"What's your point?"

Hoshi sat back, the mask gone and the dork back. Narcho grinned at her, and Showboat punched her in the arm. Santana shrugged again. She'd meant what she said, and she'd stand by it if called to.

***

"Viper pilots, to your stations," Hoshi's voice ordered over the PA system. "All other crew, stand by at action stations."

"Go get em, Squeezebox," a knuckledragger said, using his hands to make a step for her to climb into her Viper. Not something Santana was used to, but it was a nice touch. She slipped into her seat, pulled her flight helmet over her head, and braced herself. Her Viper shot out into space.

Showboat's launch tube was right beside hers, and she fell into her place at Showboat's side. She looked around for raiders, but there were no raiders. There was no basestar, no swarm of black ships heading towards them. Only the _Galactica_ and only the alert Vipers. _Galactica_ Vipers that were flying right at them.

"Shit!"

"Stay with me, Squeezebox," Showboat ordered, and her voice was hard and cold. The _Galactica_ Vipers were still well out of range.

"Viper pilots, this is _Pegasus_," Hoshi said in her ear, his smooth voice scratched by the static of the system. "Orders are to hold your fire. Repeat, do not fire first."

Santana's hands started sweating in their gloves. "What are we out here for, then?" she asked.

"We need to break their course," Showboat said. "Stay with me."

Tyrol and Agathon. This _had_ to be about Tyrol and Agathon somehow. Santana looked around frantically. The _Galactica_ Vipers were now close.

"We're going in," Showboat said.

"We haven't been ordered to fire," Santana began, but Showboat cut her off.

"We were told not to fire first, and we won't. We're just breaking their course."

Make them mad, that's what they were really doing, Santana realized. Baiting the _Galactica_ pilots. Swooping into their space, threatening with their presence. She followed Showboat, swooping closer.

A little ways over, she saw Narcho. She recognized the flying style even before she saw the kills on his bird or the nameplate. He was flying straight at another viper in a galactic game of chicken. It wasn't until Santana realized who he was flying at that her breath caught. It was Kat.

Kat was flying to meet him, because Kat wasn't the type to back down. Kat would always take things by the head, get up in your face. Hell, that was why Santana _liked_ Kat. She watched, almost frozen in her seat, not sure of what she wanted to happen.

At the last second, Kat broke free, veering out of Narcho's path. Santana let her breath out.

"Break their course," Showboat said over the wireless. "They can't get in firing range of the _Pegasus._"

"Yes, sir." She'd seen what they were doing now, and she could do this. Santana gripped the controls and began to head towards another Viper. She accelerated, ready to attack, and her thumb automatically hovered over the fire button. She was close enough to see Hot Dog's face when he veered away, narrowly avoiding collision.

"_Pegasus_," one of the pilots shouted, "requesting a weapons free."

"Do not fire first. The order stands," Hoshi said calmly. "Repeat: do not fire first."

But be ready to fire. Santana could _feel_ it coming. "We're not really doing this, are we?" she asked.

"If the Admiral says fire, we fire." Showboat's response was immediate, but for the first time, Santana heard the tremor in her voice, too.

"All _Pegasus_ Vipers, all _Pegasus Vipers_," Hoshi said, and the timbre of his voice was slightly more urgent. "Emergency recall. There's a Cylon raider right on top of you."

"Shit!" Showboat said. She rounded the Viper back and soared towards the _Pegasus_. Santana wheeled around and followed, headed for the defensive position as they prepared for an attack.

Nothing came.

They hovered, waiting. Some of the _Galactica_ pilots had clearly spotted the raider, although Santana couldn't see it, and were diving after it. But then Hoshi's voice was in her ear again. "_Pegasus_ Vipers, stand down. Incoming is friendly. Repeat, _Pegasus_ Vipers, stand down."

"All right," Showboat said. "Let's go on home."

Santana had flown several missions against the Cylons. She'd faced them nose to nose, fired, watched them explode in front of her. She'd been fired at, watched the missiles shoot right by her, so close that she could almost touch them. But as she landed after the standoff with the _Galactica_, she had never been so glad to see a landing bay in her life.

***

The mood on the landing bay was… strange. There was no euphoria, and no grief. Just a thick tension and a palpable relief. Santana pulled off her helmet, shaking out her hair. It was soaked.

"Squeezebox." Showboat was standing under Santana's Viper, looking up at her. Santana looked down mutely. Their eyes met, and neither woman spoke for a long moment. But if it had been Cylons out there that they'd been facing, Santana was sure that Showboat would have said something. Instead, she just nodded and walked away.

Santana sat down on the wing of her Viper, exhaling slowly. She had avoided thinking it while she was out there, but now the thought came hard. What if they'd been ordered to fire? What if Finn had been out there in his Raptor? What if- She cut it off. She didn't need more 'what if's.

It was only because of where she was sitting that she saw Hoshi thundering down the steps to the landing bay. Her brows furrowed. He'd been in the CIC, and she was surprised that he wasn't there right now. He headed straight over to Narcho's bird, relief clear on his face. She wasn't close enough to hear their conversation, but she saw the embrace and the look on Narcho's face as Hoshi immediately turned around and headed back up the stairs. She slid off the wing of her Viper and headed over to Narcho.

"What was that all about?" she asked.

Narcho was still watching Hoshi. "Hmm, what? Oh, yeah. Louis." He ran a hand through his wet hair, standing it on end. "I know it's frakked up, but what I wouldn't give…."

It was the softest and the most sincere that Santana had ever heard Narcho sound. She pulled away from him, shaking her head. "So why don't you? He's not getting it from anyplace else, that's clear just by looking at him."

"Because the end of that sentence was 'what I wouldn't give to have him back.'" Narcho still didn't look at her. "You'd think at the end of the worlds you'd be able to put a few things behind you and just go for it, you know? When you loved someone that much? It's not like there's much time left for any of us. But he's just going to throw it away because once I…" Narcho shook his head angrily, and then snapped back to himself. "Right. His loss." He draped his arm over Santana's shoulders. "Come on, girl. Let's go get drunk. But this time, we'll skip the sex."

"Right." Santana looked up the steps, but Hoshi was long gone. "He came down," she said as she and Narcho made it to the stairs. "He came down to make sure you were okay. That's got to mean something."

"It means nothing," Narcho insisted, but Santana saw it in his eyes before he turned away. Hope.

It was the last pairing she ever would have guessed, she thought as they made their way towards the showers. Narcho was hot as hell, Hoshi was a geek and a stereotypical bridge bunny. She didn't get it- nothing about it made sense. But then, some connections went beyond sense and ran deep anyway. Santana knew that as well as anyone. But Hoshi was right, too. Sometimes there was a reason not to go back, sometimes the fantasy wasn't enough to shadow the reality that it couldn't last and someone was going to be left alone and crying.

Santana shook her head. It was all pointless in the end anyway. Because someday soon she'd go up in a shower of sparks, and then nothing would ever matter again.

***

"Lieutenant Lopez."

Santana stopped immediately at the sound of that voice, turned around, and saluted. "Admiral Cain."

Cain approached her, a smile playing on the edge of her lips. "You did well out there, Lieutenant. I knew you were the right one for those pins."

"Yes, sir."

"Would you have fired?"

"If you'd ordered it, sir." She would have. She knew it.

Cain's smile was tinged with a deep bitterness. "I knew you were one of mine. Carry on."

"Admiral." She watched Cain walk down the hall.

_One of mine._ Gina had been one of her people, too. And Colonel Belzan, and Lilac. Santana wasn't sure how she felt about that. But she told herself not to be stupid, and turned around and walked the other way.

***

Santana respected Starbuck, to an extent, but she didn't idolize her. As a result, she'd had no idea Starbuck had been gone until the word came that she was back, that she was the friendly that everyone thought was a Cylon raider. More than that, Starbuck had taken the Blackbird that Tyrol had built and done a recon mission on her own, bringing back detailed photographs of a Cylon ship. And now, Starbuck was CAG, with captain's pins glinting on her collar.

Things felt a little upside down.

"The ship is a resurrection ship," Starbuck explained to the pilots assembled in the ready room. "When a toaster dies, that's where it goes. Its consciousness downloads into a new body on one of these little day spas. Which means, if we take out this ship, any Cylon who dies out here in space _stays dead._ They're not immortal anymore."

There was a murmur at that, and Santana leaned forward eagerly. Starbuck arched an eyebrow at the reaction, but didn't comment. Instead, she just kept detailing the plan, about how a civilian ship would be used as a decoy to draw off the raiders so the _Galactica_ and _Pegasus_ could take on the basestars. Apollo would then be able to use the stealth ship to take out the resurrection ship's FTL drives.

"And then," Starbuck paused, grinning, "we blow this shit up."

"She's _insane_," Narcho said when Starbuck dismissed them.

Santana shrugged. "That's what everyone says."

"I don't mean Thrace," Narcho said, "although yeah, she's frakking nuts. I mean Admiral Cain. She really demoted Stinger and put Thrace in charge?"

"She did get the recon photos," Showboat admitted, although she didn't sound happy about it.

That had been almost twelve hours ago. Now, the _Cybele_ was one of the decoy ships that was being used. Santana sat in her Viper in her launch tube with her heart in her mouth, hating this part of Starbuck's plan. She wondered if Starbuck had chosen the _Cybele_ just to piss her off, even though it wasn't all that likely. It was just bad luck. All Santana knew was that she would die before she'd let anything happen to that ship. Literally.

"Here we go," Hoshi said over the channel. "Cylon ships, jumping in. Fleet jumping away in three, two, one…"

She felt the _Pegasus_ jump. They were away from the _Cybele_, and it was like a piece had ripped off her heart. _I want to go back. We can't leave her out there. We can't leave her stranded._ Even though she knew they were going back, and that when they did, the _Cybele_ would jump away.

Hoshi's voice crackled to life again. "Jumping back. Alert Vipers, be ready to launch. Three, two, one…."

The _Pegasus_ lurched in a jump again, and this time, there were only a few heartbeats before Santana's Viper was rushing through the tube, exploding out into space. Raiders were chasing the _Cybele_, which was flying faster than Santana would have thought possible.

"All right," Starbuck ordered. "Engage. Red squadron, with me. Blue squadron, take the flank."

The raiders were still chasing the _Cybele_. Santana wanted so badly to veer off, to go put herself and her Viper in between them. But those weren't the orders, and she kept her Viper on course for the resurrection ship. It was a weird-looking ship, an elongated diamond, reminding her uncomfortably of her rank insignia. According to the intel, there were thousands of skinjob bodies in there, just waiting to be brought to life like windup mechanical toys.

"_Cybele_ has jumped," Hoshi announced. "Raiders will be incoming."

Santana's muscles relaxed. The _Cybele_ was safe. _Brittany_ was safe. The fog over her brain lifted and everything was clear and sharp again, and all her focus was in front of her. She met the enemy with a fierce, grim sort of joy.

"This is it, kids," Starbuck said. "Apollo's got the FTL out. Fire at will."

Santana did, watching the explosions paint fireworks across the black canvas of space.

***

"Six," Santana said, a savage glee in her face as she vaulted out of her Viper. "I'm painting six new ones on my baby here." She patted the wing with a gloved hand, and looked proudly at her row of kills.

"Nice flying," Showboat said, taking off her own helmet. She held out her hand, and when Santana clasped it she pulled her in close for a hug. "You did good, Squeezebox."

"You too." Other pilots were streaming past them, triumphant. The excitement and the joy were like electricity in the air.

Santana was celebrating with the rest. She hadn't realized that she was watching the stairs until a flash of blue caught her eye, and she turned to see Hoshi running down them. He headed right over to Narcho, his face alight with happiness. Narcho immediately wrapped his arms around Hoshi's waist, and Santana smirked as she turned away. The outcome of _that_ was obvious- the only question was who was topping whom.

They were probably celebrating on the _Cybele_, too. Probably with less alcohol than there would be here, probably more music. All in all, the party would be better on the _Pegasus_, especially since she was one of the victors. But as she looked in the direction that Hoshi and Narcho had disappeared, she couldn't deny that she'd rather be on the _Cybele_ tonight.

***

No one heard the gunshot. The metal of the ship muffled the noise, and there was no scream. So no one knew Admiral Cain was dead until Lieutenant Hoshi, already flustered and thrown off-balance, opened her door and found her lying on the floor in a pool of blood. An empty brig cell and a missing Cylon prisoner made the mystery of Cain's death easy to solve.

Santana stood in the ranks at the funeral in her dress grays, fists clenched at her side. Somewhere in the Fleet, someone was hiding that toaster. It had _shot_ Admiral Cain, point blank, and someone was hiding it. It made Santana sick to think about it.

_When I think about what she went through after the attack- all alone, one ship, no help, no hope- she didn't give up. She didn't worry. She didn't second-guess. She acted. She did what she thought needed to be done, and the Pegasus survived._ Starbuck's words about Admiral Cain hung in Santana's head long after the body had floated into space. Santana couldn't agree more with what she'd said- it was exactly what she'd admired so much about Cain. Someone idealistic like Schue or Finn would probably go on about legacies and not letting Cain's true spirit die and shit like that, but all Santana could think was that it was like anything else. Cain gave her orders, and you obeyed. Don't flich, don't second-guess, and survive. Do what you need to in order to live.

And so, she'd gone to the _Cybele_ as soon as she could after the funeral. Brittany met her there, confused at first and then open and willing and unafraid. Not flinching, not second-guessing. And finally, Santana wasn't second-guessing either.

"You're sad," Brittany said afterwards, as they lay tangled together on Brittany's bed..

"Of course I'm sad. The Admiral was just _killed_. Doesn't that bother you?" Santana snapped.

Brittany shrugged. "She was only one person, and we were doing all right with Commander Adama before she came." She ran her hand down Santana's bare back, and Santana rested her chin on her folded arms.

The world really was upside down when Brittany was making that much sense. But sometimes, upside down was a good place to be. Santana _liked_ the way Brittany viewed the world, even if it was horribly inaccurate. It was simple, it was direct, and it was a lot more pleasant than the world they actually lived in. She sighed.

They were lying on Brittany's bed. They probably only had a few more minutes before someone from New Directions cam in. She wished it would keep them out forever, and she could lock herself and Brittany away in this room and always keep her safe.

"I know it's stupid," Santana said, "but she was just, like, this huge proof that there was more than Gemenon. You know?"

"We knew that," Brittany said quietly.

"Yeah, but we never got to live it. I'm a _lieutenant_, Brit. Puck's a private and Mercedes will move up to specialist soon enough and Finn's an ensign, but I'm a _lieutenant._ It wouldn't have happened like that back home."

Brittany made a small noise that might have been agreement. "Can I ask you something?" she said after a short silence. Santana shrugged. "Is that why we aren't together? Because you're still afraid?"

"No."

"Then why not?"

Santana sat up, rubbing her forehead against her updrawn knees. "You know what happens over on the military ships?" she said.

Brittany shrugged. "I don't know. Guns? Fighting? Catapaults?"

Santana blinked, and then shook her head. "No. People keep _dying. Pilots_ keep dying."

"So?"

"Look, if we don't find this Earth that Adama keeps talking about, that's how it's going to go for us, okay? You'll stay here on the _Cybele_ with Burt, and I'll keep you safe. But I'm out there all the time fighting those frakkers, and it's only a matter of time before one of them shoots me down. Which, whatever, I don't care about that. And then you're stuck like Puck and Kurt and Showboat and everyone else, which is alone and miserable. We don't have much time, Brit."

"But we have some." Brittany was calmer than Santana ever would have given her credit for. "We have some time to be together, and it's not fair of you to decide I can't handle it all by yourself. I get to choose, too."

Something in Santana cracked. Brittany was looking at her with calm, clear eyes, and her hand was on Santana's arm, callused now, but warm. For the past two years it had been up and down and yes and no and running and hiding and wanting from a distance, but never able to get it right. Never able to get it to work. And now, at the end of the worlds, Brittany was sitting her calmly telling Santana that whatever time they had left was hers, with the full understanding that it wouldn't be long.

"You're sure," Santana whispered.

Brittany shrugged. "Back when you joined the Fleet, Mr. H. told me something. He said when you love someone, the time is never enough. Ever. But you wouldn't trade it for anything."

Santana snorted. "Didn't realize he was such a romantic. Explains why Kurt is the way he is."

Brittany ignored her as if she hadn't spoken. "You could die tomorrow. You could die fifty years from now. Either way, we wouldn't have enough time together."

In her mind she could see Puck standing at the Wall on _Galactica_ and drinking himself into oblivion with Kurt. Dave laughing back on Gemenon. Narcho and Hoshi heading up the stairs together, Showboat standing beside Santana, looking at a Cylon who had been partially responsible for her best friend's death. All these people who had borne extraordinary loss, still going on, still fighting.

"We've lost so much time already," Brittany said softly. "Let's not lose anymore."

Santana was so used to fighting, it seemed strange just to nod. "All right," she said softly, not quite able to believe it. She reached out tentatively, and Brittany threaded her fingers through Santana's and smiled.

***

"I can't believe you're so happy to see a civilian ship," Showboat teased Santana as they stood on the deck.

"I know. But it's my girlfriend." Santana couldn't have said the word any more smugly. Showboat laughed.

The shuttle landed, and Burt Hummel climbed out. Chief Laird went over to greet him. Santana didn't quite understand what they were doing, but apparently Laird was going to show Burt how do to something with one of the engines that Burt wasn't familiar with. Brittany climbed out after him, looking around with wide eyes. Santana smiled and ran over.

They could kiss in public now, and Santana could wrap her arm around Brittany's waist. "Let me give you the tour," she said.

"I really should listen to Mr. Laird," Brittany protested.

"You think you're going to understand anything he says?" Santana asked.

"No," Brittany admitted.

"Then come on."

They walked through the deck together, weaving around the Vipers, but had to stop suddenly when they rounded one corner and happened on two men talking in quiet, low voices.

"I'm sorry, Noel." It was Hoshi. Santana could see his face- he looked anxious and sad.

"But you-"

"And I shouldn't have. _We_ shouldn't have." Hoshi sighed. "I'm sorry I gave you the wrong idea. But it's not going to work. You know that."

"I know," Narcho said, in a voice that Santana knew was meant to be causal and angry, like what Hoshi said was no big deal. Like it didn't matter. "Your loss. We'll just go back to where we were before."

Relief was clear on Hoshi's face. "All right. Thank you, Noel."

"Whatever." Noel turned, and as he did he saw Santana and Brittany. He smiled at them, and gave them a little half wave. Santana nodded back, all too aware that that could have been her.

Brittany pulled on her hand. "Come on. I think they want to be alone."

"Probably." Santana squeezed Brittany's hand and followed her. "Let's go." They began winding through the Vipers. "Brit?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

Brittany smiled. It was a beautiful smile, and Santana knew that before she died, it would be the last thing in her memory. "I know," Brittany said. "I love you, too."


	6. Show Me A Garden That's Bursting Into Li

"Shopping trip!"

Brittany's squeal woke Tina up. She propped herself up on one elbow, rubbing at her eyes. "Is it time to get up already?" Tina asked. Next to her, Mike groaned and pulled the pillow over his head.

"Our one day off for a month," he muttered. "I'm going back to sleep."

Tina sat up. She was still exhausted, but, well, _shopping._ She shook her hair out. "What time does the shuttle leave?" she asked, poking her head out of the privacy curtain she and Mike had tacked up around their bed.

"Nine-twenty," Quinn said. She was sitting on her bunk, lacing up a pair of shoes. "You _are_ coming, aren't you?"

"Are you kidding?" Tina said, a little more awake. "I'm so in."

Mike peeked out from under the pillow. "Keep an eye out for-"

"More toys, I know," Tina sighed. They'd been over this so many times. "I'll see if I can find some dolls, especially."

"And cars."

"And trains and planes and games and dress up clothes and…" Tina drifted off with a sigh. "I'll see what I can do. Are you going to lie there all day?"

"That's my plan."

Tina leaned over and kissed him playfully. "Lazy."

"Enjoying _silence_ for once. Go. Shop. I'm spending the day hiding from kids."

"Love you," Tina said affectionately.

"You too."

***

The shuttle flight took about ten minutes, and Tina watched out the window curiously. The _Prometheus_ was a rectangular ship, flat and bulky and ugly. It wasn't even close to as big as _Cloud 9_ or the _Zephyr_ or the military ships, but it was still about five times the size of the _Cybele_. It was a freighter, and almost four hundred people lived on it, as opposed to the two hundred that lived on their ship.

The docking bay was so much bigger than the _Cybele_'s, but it was spare and dingy looking. Tina hadn't been in that many docking bays- just the _Cybele_'s, _Cloud 9_'s, the _Rising Star_'s, and two or three others- but from what she'd seen, the _Prometheus_ wasn't an impressive ship.

It didn't matter though, because when she, Rachel, Brittany, and Quinn climbed out of the shuttle, there were people waiting for them. Santana and Mercedes were there, both in their BDU's, and Kurt was grinning at them as well.

"I know Mercedes and Santana asked for leave, but how did you rate time off?" Tina asked, once the squealing and hugging had died down.

"Please," Kurt said. "It's _shopping_. Rachel told me you were going, and did you really think I would miss it? It just so happens that Mr. Zarek had some meetings he wanted to conduct over here, and I conveniently scheduled them for today." He slipped one arm through Mercedes' and one through Tina's. "And if I can combine business and pleasure, what's the harm?"

"I kind of can't believe we're here," Mercedes said, looking around. "I hear all kinds of things about the _Prometheus_ from everyone in the bridge."

"Spill," Santana ordered.

"I heard it's one of the worst ships in the Fleet," Mercedes said, her eyes sparkling.

"Like pick-pocketing and bar fights?" Rachel asked excitedly.

"No, more like theft and illegal prostitution and drug dealing," Mercedes said, side-eyeing Rachel. "Didn't you hear about the raid a couple of weeks ago? They found all kinds of things."

"Well, if it's so terrible, then why are we here?" Rachel asked.

"Because there are things you just can't get at any other market in the Fleet," Tina said, waggling her eyebrows. "Believe me, I've tried."

The _Prometheus_ cargo hold had long since been emptied of cargo and was now divided into smaller rooms. Some were places for people to live, but the girls and Kurt quickly found their way to the area that was the marketplace. It wasn't clearly marked, but it didn't need to be, not with the flow of people and the smell of liquor and cigarettes. Excited, they entered the corridors.

A lot of vendors used tables, some with a huge inventory and some with only a few items to trade. Some sellers carried their wares on trays in front of them, like the hot sausage sellers at Pyramid games. It was dark and crowded, but at the same time it was exciting. Tina wished she could look in about five different directions at once. It was also going to be very hard to carry big, bulky items like toys through a crowd like this, especially as she found her group splitting up very fast.

Tina wound her way through the sellers, passing by medicine and cigarettes and porn and keeping an eye out for those who sold more legitimate forms of entertainment. It took some doing, but she was able to find a handful of little metal cars, a set of plastic dinosaurs with the previous owner's tooth marks on them, several well-read board books, and three dolls. It wasn't much, but at least it was _something_. Her pack was pleasantly heavy when she decided she was done.

Now that she had the toys, Tina relaxed and spent more time browsing the other sellers' wares. She finally found the girls and Kurt at a stall, and judging by the wide-eyed expression on Rachel's face and the smirk on Santana's, whatever they were looking at was _good_. "What's going on?" she asked, coming up behind Mercedes.

"Check it out," Mercedes said, gesturing to the table in front of her. "Sex toys."

"Can I interest you in anything?" the seller asked. She was a young woman, maybe in her twenties. "It's all new- never been used." Tina wasn't sure about that, given that most of them weren't in packages. "Most of what I have is in the personal pleasure category," the seller continued, "but with a little creativity, it could be used with a partner if you've got one." She gestured to the vibrators. "Believe me, there are things these babies can do that a man's dick can't."

That was hard to imagine. "Like what?" Tina asked.

The seller smiled at her. "Well, this one here, the pink one, see how it's contoured? Unless there's something seriously wrong with a guy's dick, you aren't going to get those ridges in nature. And these tumbling pearls in this one… have any of you ever used something like this?" No one answered her. "Very worth trying out. And _this_ one," she pointed to a blue one that had an attachment to it, "clitoral and vaginal stimulation at one."

Quinn arched an eyebrow. "Does it really work?"

"I have a friend who swears by it. Especially the pearls." Quinn looked thoughtful.

"You should go for it, Quinn. It's bigger than you're going to find with any of the New Directions guys," Santana pointed out.

"Not true," Tina said immediately.

Mercedes looked at the toy and her eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

"Really."

"Damn, girl."

"If it runs on batteries, is it like sleeping with a Cylon?" Brittany wondered. Everyone looked at her, but no one answered.

"You have anything that's double-ended?" Santana asked instead.

The woman shook her head regretfully. "Sold that one. But you might be able to find one further down. Now you…" she looked at Kurt, who drew back with an alarmed expression and turned bright red. "You might be interested in this one." She dropped a packaged vibrator into his hand.

"It's kind of crooked," Kurt managed to say. Tina had to bury her face in Mercedes' shoulder for a moment, because the expression on Kurt's face was so comical.

"It is," the seller agreed. "It's shaped that way for maximum prostate stimulation."

"Oh my gods," Kurt handed it back to her, and all of the girls dissolved into laughter. The seller didn't.

"I'm serious," she insisted over the giggles. "What's even better is that it leaves your hands free, so maybe you can slip into one of these," she held up a giant ring, "and again, dual stimulation. Or, if you prefer, I've got a masturbator if that's more your speed."

Kurt actually buried his face in his hands.

"Come on, Kurt," Santana said, "this isn't Gemenon any more. So you take it up the ass. No one cares."

Kurt dropped his hands and glared at her. "That's not the point, Santana. The point is it's _private._"

"Whatever. I'll take that dolphin," she said, pointing to a little blue dolphin-shaped massager. "Is there a military discount?"

As Santana and the seller negotiated, Quinn, Rachel, Mercedes, and Brittany moved on to the next seller. Tina could get closer now, and she studied the rest of what was on the table. A small stack of boxes caught her eye. "What are those?" she asked when Santana was done.

"Oh. Birth control pills. I had a year's supply, but I don't exactly need them anymore, and they expire."

"Really?" Tina asked excitedly. "I didn't know you could still get them."

"They aren't easy to come by." The seller handed her a box to examine. The pill dispenser was still sealed. Twenty eight little pills were nestled neatly in blister packs.

"Why are they different colors?" Tina asked, running her fingers over them in awe.

"The red ones are placeholders," the seller explained. "That's how they work. All you have to do is just take a pill the same time each day. You start them on the first day of your period. Ninety-nine percent effective. But they don't protect against STDs."

"That's okay," Tina said. "How much?"

They haggled down to a price that took the rest of the cubits that Tina had. They bought her six months worth of pills. By the time she was done, the others had moved on to another table. "Are you coming, Kurt?" Tina asked.

Kurt blushed. "I'll be there in a minute."

Tina caught the seller's eye and they both laughed. Kurt scowled at her, but Tina just patted him on the shoulder and walked away with her birth control pills in hand. This had been the most successful shopping trip ever, and it wasn't even over.

***

Tina unlocked the door of the daycare, and to her surprise, Mike was sitting at the low table, hunched over and working on paperwork. "I thought you were taking the day off today," she said.

Mike frowned. "I got a call. We've got a couple new kids coming in from some of the ships without any sort of daycare."

"We've already got nineteen kids," Tina said. "Any staff?" Mike snorted a negative, and Tina sighed. "Figures. How many?"

"Three. But there're special circumstances on the one."

Tina looked over his shoulder. "What kind?"

Mike shrugged. "Doesn't say. Anyway, I thought I'd get a jump on all that, so I'm in here. Plus, Sam brought Rya over to the _Cybele_. I got kicked out of the room."

"Oh. She should have come shopping with us."

"I don't think they were very interested in shopping," Mike said, making a wry face. "Did you find anything?"

"I did." Tina began unloading her bag and setting the toys on the table for Mike to examine. She sat down at the table. "It's so quiet in here."

"I know, right? It won't be when they see these." Mike picked up a car and turned it over in his hands.

The quiet and the bright colors of the daycare were even more pronounced after the noise and the darkness of the _Prometheus_. Tina had to admit she was proud of what they'd done with the room. Brittany had gotten them paint, and the walls were now bright primary colors. Mr. Hummel had rigged up a system of metal bars on one of the walls for the kids to climb on, and even managed to make a little slide. He'd also saved a lot of small wooden scraps, cut them into shapes, sanded them down and painted them so the kids had blocks to play with. Two low, round tables were surrounded with small mismatched chairs, and they had managed to make a cubby system out of empty boxes. A changing table and a gliding rocking chair were their two big treasures, tucked into one corner along with a big box that they used as a crib. Without the kids in here, the room was very quiet and peaceful.

Mike was watching her. Tina smiled. "What?"

"You know," Mike said, his voice pitching low, "this door does at least have a lock."

Tina giggled. "Should we get out the naptime mats?"

"I think so, don't you?" Mike dug in his pocket. "I thought to bring a condom."

"When do you forget?" Tina wrapped her arms around Mike's neck. For a moment she thought about telling him about the birth control pills, but she decided to keep it a surprise. Then Mike started kissing her, and Tina was happy not to think about anything at all.

***

Rya Kibby was exactly the kind of girl Tina had always expected Sam to go for. She was pretty, skinny, and had long brown hair and big eyes and a sweet smile. Although Tina had wanted to dislike her for Mercedes' sake (although Mercedes didn't seem to give a frak about who Sam dated), she had to admit that she really liked Rya. So when she and Mike went to get dinner, Tina sat down next to Rya at the New Directions table. As she did, Carole sat in the seat across from them.

"Rya," she said, leaning across the table, "did you contact your parents?"

"I did, Mrs. Hummel," Rya said. At Tina's confused look, she sighed. "My mom isn't too thrilled about me coming over here with Sam. The only way she lets me come is because Mrs. Hummel is here, and I check in with her every night."

"Which totally stops you from sleeping with Sam," Tina giggled.

"Tina!" Rya flared red, looking furtively at Carole. Fortunately, Carole was listening to Artie and Brittany recounting something and didn't hear. Tina lowered her voice anyway.

"There's no need to get so shocked about it," she said sympathetically. "It's not like we don't all know."

"I know. It's just…" Rya fiddled unconsciously with the prayer beads on her wrist.

Tina patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. Rya came from the other side of Gemenon, half a world away from Lima. She talked about big cities and temples and technology, but at the same time, she was still considered the _property_ of her parents and insisted on calling Carole Mrs. Hummel, despite the fact that Carole hyphenated her last name. But she didn't go around quoting scripture and she _was_ sleeping with Sam, so Tina figured she probably wasn't as nuts as her parents were.

"You should have come shopping with us today," Tina said. "It was hysterical."

Rya flushed. "I didn't know-"

"I know. I don't know why I thought Sam would have told you." Tina shook her head. "I expected a guy to tell you about a shopping trip. I'm sorry. Next time I'll tell you myself."

"It's all right," Rya said. She blushed. "I did have fun today."

"I'll bet." Tina nudged her.

"Can I ask you something?" Rya said quietly. "Do you and Mike, you know…"

"Have sex? Absolutely."

"Oh." Rya seemed taken aback by her candor, despite the way Tina had been teasing her. "Can I… can I ask you some questions about it later? Without the whole table listening? There's some things that my mom never really explained, and I just don't know if they're normal."

Tina grinned evilly. "Finish up," she said. "You want the other girls as well?"

"Will I regret it?" Rya asked dubiously.

"Santana's back on the _Pegasus_, so no."

"All right." Rya looked nervous, but a little excited. Tina didn't blame her. But it was really time that Sam's girlfriend became one of the girls. After all, it looked like she was going to be around for a while.

***

Tina's period started a few days later. She stared at the birth control pill for a long time before she took it. Granted, it wasn't that big of a deal- she and Mike had been having sex for over a year. But something about this felt different. Big. Committed. _Adult_. It was like some sort of statement, even if no one else knew about it. To be honest, it was a little scary. She pushed the fear away and swallowed the pill.

***

It was only ten o'clock, and already it was a long day.

When Tina and Mike had first started sitting for the kids on the _Cybele_, they'd joked about dirty diapers. Now Tina knew that dirty diapers were nothing. After all, when a kid's diaper was dirty, it was easy to figure out what was wrong and fix the problem. Wipe their butt, give them a clean one, and more often than not the urchin was on their way, happy as could be. It was when they stopped using diapers that it got hard.

"Okay, Colin," Tina said patiently, sitting on the floor in front of the training potty. "Let's poop."

"No," the three year old boy said with a fierce glare. "I don't wanna!"

"Come on. You do it for your mom, right?"

"Tomorrow!" Colin insisted. "I do it tomorrow!"

"Please?" Tina begged. "I'll read you a book."

"NO!" Colin shrieked. "NO POOP ON POTTY!" He burst into tears.

Tina pressed her lips together and lifted him off the stupid thing, and then put his underwear and pants back on. "Fine," she said angrily. "Go play."

Five minutes later, Colin was back. "I pooped."

"Of course you did." He stunk. Tina scooped him up and started the business of changing him.

Across the room, Mike had his own hands full. "This slug is very dangerous," a little boy named Brandon was explaining. "It can shoot acid at its enemies, and then it can use x-ray vision!"

"That's great," Mike said, rocking a baby and trying to get her to take a bottle. "Come on, Sarah. Let's eat."

"And then the slug flies off to defeat its enemies!" Brandon swooshed the slug constructed from tinker toys over his head, narrowly missing Sarah's head. Sarah followed it with her eyes, ignoring the offered bottle. "That's right, right Mike?"

"I don't know, Brandon. Right now I'm trying to get Sarah to eat." Mike's patience was clearly straining. "Go play."

"No. I want to talk to you. Did you know that some slugs can fly?"

It was chaos, and that wasn't even taking into account the pair of girls squabbling over a doll, a little boy putting stickers all over his brother, or the fact that three kids had pulled out the homemade modeling dough that Tina and Mike had made and were spreading it all over the table. Tina put Colin down, took the stickers from the brother, corralled the play-dough, and was trying to convince the girls to play house and that they could both be mommies when someone knocked on the door.

"Ms. Cohen-Chang?"

There was a couple standing at the door, the woman holding a little girl by the hand. Tina caught Mike's eye. Mike nodded acknowledgement and she slipped away from the table.

"I'm Mark," the man said, extending his hand when Tina closed the door behind her. "Mark Gremple, and this is my wife Michelle. We're over on the _Persephone_."

"Nice to meet you," Tina said. The little girl was staring up at Tina with what looked like terror. Tina bent down. "And who are you?"

"This is Grace," Michelle put in when the little girl didn't answer. "Ms. Cohen, is there a place we can talk in private?"

Tina wracked her brains for a minute, and then shrugged. "We'll see," she said, and then led them to the New Directions room. Fortunately, everyone was out. Grace clung to Michelle's hand, but when Tina closed the door and the room was quiet, she seemed to relax a little. "Do you like the stars?" Tina asked, pointing to the ceiling. Grace nodded. "Me, too. My friend Brittany painted them." She turned back to the parents. "Mike said that there were a few new kids coming in from other ships."

Mark smiled faintly. "Mike is your husband?"

"Oh, no." Tina put her hands up and laughed. "No, we're too young. Boyfriend. He's good with the kids though. How old is your daughter?"

"She's not-" Mark began, and then cut himself off, looking at Grace. It wasn't an angry denial, Tina realized. It was a hesitant one.

Michelle jumped in. "Grace has just come to live with us very recently," she said, sitting down on one of the crates and pulling Grace into her lap. Grace scrambled up, clinging to Michelle. "She was traveling with her father when the Cylons attacked, and unfortunately, he died from pneumonia a few months back."

Tina's heart melted. "Oh. So she remembers him?"

"She does." Michelle's face was troubled. "Mark, maybe, if it's okay with Ms. Cohen-Chang, I could take Grace down to the daycare to look around while you explain the rest?"

Mark nodded, and Michelle and Grace left. "I apologize for all this," he said, rubbing the palms of his hands against his pants. "We should have done this alone, but there aren't many people she'll stay with."

"Is something wrong?" Tina asked.

Mark sighed. "Like my wife said, Grace has just very recently come to live with us. When her father died… well, he didn't have anyone he could really trust, I guess. I don't know. I've never met him."

"Okay…" Tina was definitely confused.

"There was a raid on the _Prometheus_ a couple of weeks ago, did you hear?" Tina nodded. "Well, one of the things that they'd found was a child prostitution ring."

"Oh no." Tina could see where this was going.

Mark nodded. "Yes."

Tina closed her eyes and sighed heavily. "You'd better tell me what I need to know."

***

Life in the Fleet was hard for a child. Tina had figured that out months ago. The scrounging for toys, the lack of any sort of outside, and the constant fear of Cylon attacks reminded her all the time. But Grace's story added a new edge to it all- what could happen to a child if they didn't have an adult to protect them.

"It's disgusting that people would even think of doing that," Mike said that night as they climbed into bed together and pulled the curtain. "I don't get it."

Tina didn't either. "Mike? What if we get this wrong? What if we can't do this? What if we make things worse for her than they already are?"

Mike looked surprised. "We won't. We can do this. _You_ can do this, Tina. You're awesome." He kissed her on the cheek. "It will be okay. We're just helping- we're not the only people on this. We just have to keep her safe while her parents are working."

He was right. Just like the other kids, they weren't in charge. Not really. Tina relaxed enough to lie down beside him. "You really think we can do this?" she asked, just to hear him say it again.

"I really think we can do this," Mike reassured her. "We'll figure it all out."

He made it sound so easy. He made Tina believe it _could_ be easy, even though she knew it wouldn't be anything of the sort.

It was no real surprise the next morning when Grace spent the whole morning howling for Michelle, and the afternoon curled up in a corner with a blanket. Tina wished desperately that she could hug the girl and make it better, but that was the last thing that would help. But maybe, with a lot of hard work and patience, Grace would open up and see that Tina would never, ever hurt her.

It wouldn't be easy, but she could do this. Really.

***

"_Happy birthday to you!_"

Quinn set the cake down in front of Mike. "It's vanilla," she said regretfully. "Chocolate is getting too hard to come by."

"I like vanilla," Mike said, and then blew out the candles. "I don't suppose Puck made the cake, did he?" They all laughed, remembering that first bake sale, but of course Puck hadn't been anywhere near the kitchen. Puck was still over on the _Galactica_ and unable to get leave to come over for the night.

Tina, who was perched on the edge of the table next to Mike, laughed with the others. Mike winked at her and began to cut the cake. Cake and sweets weren't impossible to get, but they were getting harder to come by. Tina and Quinn had had to promise several dishwashing shifts to the kitchen in order to get the ingredients and they'd had to trade a cleaning shift because neither of them could remember how to make a cake. But Mike's smile made it worth it.

There were no presents. The days of picking up a book or some music or a scarf for a few cubits were over. But the one thing that Tina was sure was a gift was that when she and Mike slipped away and back to the New Directions room, it was empty.

"Now that's a birthday present," Mike laughed, wrapping his arms around Tina's waist.

"Mmm." Tina tipped her face up. "I have another birthday present for you, too."

"Oh yeah?" Mike was already starting to tug at her clothing a little. "What is it?"

"I went on the Pill." Mike went still, staring at Tina with huge eyes, and the corners of her mouth tugged up in a smug smile at his response.

"Are you serious?" he asked.

Tina nodded. "Completely."

"So we don't have to use-"

"Nope."

Mike kissed her hard. "I love you," he said as they broke away from each other, his forehead against hers.

His heart was beating against his chest and the skin of his neck was hot under her hands. Tina closed her eyes and pressed closer. "I love you, too."

***

She felt _different_ the next morning. More adult. Like she and Mike were a grown-up couple now, and that this was so much more intimate and serious. But she didn't have long to dwell on it.

It started with a scream. A blood-curdling, howling scream that made Mike and Tina run for the nursery.

"No!" Grace was shouting, clinging to Michelle. "No, no, no, NO!"

"Shouldn't this be getting better?" Tina asked. She crouched down. "Grace, honey. Do you want to come in and play the game the kids were playing yesterday? The other kids aren't here yet, so it would just be you and me."

Grace shook her head and buried her face in Michelle's stomach, and Tina sighed in frustration. Michelle frowned. "You can't expect miracles, Tina." She sounded a little sharp. "She's only been coming for a week."

She had, but she hadn't made _any_ progress forward. Tina bit her tongue. She wished she had Mike's backup, but Mike had disappeared into the nursery to start getting things ready for the other kids arriving, and besides, he still made Grace nervous. She was on her own.

"Come on, Grace," she said, sitting on the floor. "We all had a good time yesterday, didn't we? Wouldn't it be fun to play the checkers game?" Grace still wouldn't look at her, and Tina sighed. This was going to take a while.

She and Michelle were still trying to convince Grace to come in when the other kids started showing up. The chaos didn't help Grace's state of mind at all, and Tina was positive some of the other parents were watching her, judging how much time she spent with this kid as opposed to theirs. Mike stuck his head out of the nursery and mouthed something about backup, and from inside Tina could hear howling already. This had _long day_ written all over it.

***

"I just don't know how to handle it," Tina complained to Mr. Schuester as they ate lunch together. "Grace just needs so much time and attention, but there are twenty-one other kids who need it, too, and just two of us."

"Well, you can't let one student dominate the whole classroom, Tina," Mr. Schuester said. Tina gave him a flat stare over her sandwich, which made Will sigh. "I know, I know. Some students just do it anyway." At least he looked sheepish.

"Right. But it's not like Rachel," Tina continued. "Grace has good reasons. I just don't know how to deal with it."

She was hoping for advice, for answers. After all, Mr. Schuester had taught for years before the attacks, and he was still teaching now. But instead, he just patted her on the hand.

"You'll figure it out, Tina. I have faith in you. You can do wonderful things with this."

Tina knew that was supposed to be empowering and encouraging. And it did feel good to hear someone say she could do this. But when Mr. Schuester left the table and went back to his own class, the optimism drained away, replaced by reality. She was a high school student who babysat on weekends to make some extra cash. She didn't need empowerment or encouragement- she needed _education_. She just had no idea where in this frakked up world she could go to get it.

***

Days ticked by, and nothing changed.

Grace still screamed for hours when she was dropped off. Tina tried to pay more attention to the other kids, but somehow dealing with Grace left her no time whatsoever. She tried to find out more about how to help children who had been the victims of sexual abuse, but the psychologists in the Fleet were overworked and there wasn't exactly a library on the subject. Mercedes sent over some information from some files that were on _Galactica_, but some of the language was so clinical that Tina couldn't make much sense of it.

Tina didn't even know why she was fighting so hard. She hadn't bonded with Grace at all. She didn't even really _like_ the girl, if she was honest with herself. But when Michelle and Mark pulled her aside, their faces serious and set, Tina knew what was coming and still felt like a failure for it.

"It's just not working out, Tina," Mark said. "She needs to be on the same ship as us."

"But the _Persephone_ doesn't have a daycare," Tina said.

"No. But our application to move over to the _Zephyr_ was finally approved," Mark said. "Which is better all around. The daycare there is run by professionals- people who know what they're doing." He saw the look on Tina's face and backpedaled immediately. "Not that you kids aren't doing a good job. You are. But you're still kids yourself. Grace needs someone who has training." It was completely true, but Tina pressed her lips together angrily anyway.

"Thanks for trying," Michelle said, a little lamely. "We appreciate it. And thank Mike for us, too. But I really think this is in Grace's best interests."

And that was how you got fired in daycare, apparently, with a half-hearted smile and a handshake, and the parents hustling their daughter away. Tina watched them go, trying just to feel relieved and instead feeling like she'd failed miserably.

***

"I don't get why I'm so upset over this!" Quinn handed Tina another tissue as they sat at the table in the little infirmary. Tina took it and blew her nose. "This is good. It's what Grace needs, and this isn't about me." But her words didn't help, and all that happened was she started crying harder.

Quinn watched her quietly, with that weighing sort of look she got when she was thinking. She didn't say anything until the storm finally let up and Tina's tears stopped.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Quinn asked calmly when Tina had gotten a hold of herself again. "I mean, why not Mike or Mercedes or Kurt?"

Tina shrugged. "I don't know. Doctor-patient confidentiality? Does that apply?" Quinn didn't answer. "I just needed to talk to someone who wasn't going to tell me it wasn't my fault."

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "But it wasn't," she said.

"No, but I don't want to be patted down." It was hard to explain. "I just want… someone _can_ help her. Someone who knows what they're doing. But not me. And I'm just tired of feeling like there's nothing I can do anymore. Like I don't have any control over anything that goes on in my own life."

"It's not your life you couldn't control," Quinn pointed out.

"But if I'd known more, I could have helped. If I'd gotten to go to college…"

"You were accepted at Nemea University, weren't you?" Quinn asked. Tina nodded. "What would you have majored in?"

Tina shrugged. "I don't know. I wanted to go on stage, but I don't think that ever would have happened. Not for real." Quinn didn't jump in to assure her it would have. "I was thinking about occupational therapy, actually. Working with kids. If I'd just gotten a little further and known a little more… but right now I don't know anything! I want to be able to do so much more and I just _can't_!" To her annoyance, she found herself on the verge of tears again.

"So is this about Grace, or about what you didn't get to do?"

"I don't know," Tina admitted sullenly. "Grace. Me. Both. It doesn't matter. Figuring it out doesn't change anything."

"No. But at least you know what the real problem is," Quinn said. "It's not Grace. It's a lack of agency."

Tina glared at her. "Since when did you become the expert on emotions?"

"I never said I was. But you'll be fine, Tina. You couldn't help her, but no one really expected you to." Quinn stood up and started organizing her supplies. "Life goes on, and all you can really do is go one as well."

***

Quinn was right about one thing- life went on. And the truth was, it _was_ easier without Grace. Now Tina could spread her attention out more fairly, and life in the daycare returned to the same balanced craziness that she and Mike were used to. It was terrible to be so relieved that Grace was gone, because Tina knew the girl deserved every ounce of sympathy that she had, but it was undeniable that things were easier.

"Am I a terrible person for thinking that?" she asked Mike as they lay in bed.

"Not at all," Mike said. Tina had thought he was miles away, but he was obviously listening. "Sometimes there's just nothing you can do."

She felt better knowing that she at least hadn't let Mike down. Mike was the one thing Tina felt sure of in her life. It was more than most people had. She snuggled against him and closed her eyes.

Her mind wouldn't settle down, and it took her a long time to fall asleep. When she did, she didn't notice that Mike was still awake, staring at the bunk above them.

***

The clock said 5:12 when Tina crept back into the New Directions room, and Mike had stolen all the covers. Burt was snoring- loudly, too- and Sue was talking in her sleep, something about Principal Figgins. Tina didn't even want to _know_ what that dream was about. She sighed, decided she wasn't going to get back to sleep before the alarm went off anyway, and traded her shorts for a pair of sweats and pulled a bra on under her shirt. She must have slept on her stomach wrong or something- putting on the bra hurt her breasts. She slipped back out of the room, closing the door softly behind her, and decided to go looking for breakfast.

The _Cybele_ was quiet. Tina reveled in the silence as she made her way down the corridor and then climbed the ladder up to the passenger cabin. People were awake in there- the lights were on. Tina grabbed herself some breakfast, and then realized that Kurt and Artie were already sitting at a table. She walked over. "Can I join you?"

They looked startled at her interruption. Kurt nodded and moved a stack of papers, and Tina thumped down. "You're up early," Artie said. His voice sounded funny.

Tina shrugged. "I had to pee," she said. Kurt winced at the crudeness of it, but it was too early in the morning to be that polite. "I really could have used the sleep, too." She dug into her cereal, and managed to eat three bites before she noticed the silence. "What?" she asked. "Is the kitchen out of coffee?"

Kurt was slumped in his chair and staring at the table in front of him, and Artie had his head bowed. It began to dawn on Tina that something was seriously wrong. "What is it?" she asked, fear suddenly spiking in her gut. "Is it Santana or Puck?"

Artie was the one who spoke. "Billy Keikeya."

Tina's first response was one of overwhelming relief. It wasn't Santana or Puck or Finn or Mercedes. She relaxed, air rushing into her lungs. Which, when she thought about it, was kind of an awful reaction. They'd just told her that someone had _died_, and her first reaction was to be grateful that it wasn't someone she cared about? That was pretty disgusting.

"It was a terrorist attack over on _Cloud 9_," Artie continued after Tina didn't ask. "He was shot."

"Oh." Billy really didn't mean much to Tina. She barely knew him. But Artie and Kurt had both already lost a lot, and to lose another friend like this… she could see how badly it was affecting them. Sadness was radiating off of them, and before Tina knew it, tears were flooding her eyes.

"Tina?" Artie asked, sounding more than a little alarmed. "Are you okay?"

She was crying now. "I'm fine," she tried to insist, but good gods, the news that this guy she barely knew was dead was _so sad_, and it wasn't helped at all by either of their faces… or by the fact that were now looking at her like she was crazy. "I'm sorry," she said, grabbing her bowl and standing up. "I'm sorry. I'll go."

She retreated, Kurt and Artie still watching her like she was about to explode. It didn't help, and she fled the room, horrendously embarrassed. This was definitely going to be another bad day.

***

The last strains of the song hung in the air, and then Mr. Schue smiled and clicked off the tape recorder. "That's great, guys," he said, smiling.

"I don't get why we still have to do all this mopey crap," Santana said, tossing her sheet music to one side. "It's like the emo hour over here."

"Because we're living in an apocalypse," Kurt said snippily. "I rather think it's relevant, given that people are _still_ dying."

"Whatever," Santana said, and then happened to look right at Tina, who was crying again. She scowled. "What the frak is your problem?"

"I don't know," Tina said, trying not to break down in sobs.

"You're awfully weepy," Artie said suspiciously. "Is it shark week?"

"Sharks died when the Colonies got nuked," Brittany said.

"No, it's slang for a period," Artie explained. "Blood in the water and inciting frenzy."

"You deserve to be smacked for that," Quinn said, but Tina had frozen. It had been six weeks since she'd been on the Pill, and no period. Her mind was reeling, because _what if_.

"You okay?" Mike asked her, squeezing her hand.

"Yeah," Tina said, and then shook herself. "Yeah," she said, much more confidently. She'd heard talk about girls using the Pill to avoid getting their periods, so of _course_ she didn't have hers. "I'm fine," she said, squeezing Mike's hand back. "It's just been a long few weeks."

She _wasn't_ pregnant. Definitely not. How could she be? She was on the Pill. She wasn't throwing up, like Quinn had done, or getting bitchy. She was just crying a lot. And her breasts hurt all the time. And she got up several times a night to pee. But didn't that happen _later_ in a pregnancy? Tina really didn't know that much about it, but she was pretty sure the peeing thing happened when the baby was bigger, not at the beginning.

But the seed of doubt was there, and Tina was starting to worry.

***

"Quinn?"

Quinn looked up from the giant book she was reading. "Tina. Come in."

Tina stepped in. "What's that?"

"Oh." Quinn sighed and rolled her eyes. "Dr. Robert gave it to me. It's an anatomy text book. He said if I'm going to be a doctor, I still have to go to med school. I told him I wasn't going to be a doctor," Quinn arched one eyebrow to indicate her annoyance, "but he didn't exactly believe me. I guess they're desperate."

"I guess so." Tina shifted uncomfortably. "Do you mind if I close the door?"

"Go ahead." Quinn marked her place and pushed the book away. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't think so," Tina temporized. "I just…." Quinn didn't let her off the hook- she just sat quietly and waited, an expectant expression on her face. "I know everything's okay," Tina said. "I just want to be sure."

"All right. What sort of symptoms are you having?"

"A lot of little things, but the big one is that my period hasn't shown up." Quinn froze. "I know it sounds bad," Tina said, "but I've been taking birth control pills. I'm not pregnant."

Quinn frowned. "Were you on the Pill before the attacks?" Tina shook her head. "Where did you get birth control pills?"

"Last month, when we went over to the _Prometheus_." Tina said. "They were fine, Quinn. They were sealed and everything- I'm sure they were all right."

"They probably were," Quinn said carefully. "Have you and Mike been using condoms still?"

"Isn't that the point of the Pill?"

Quinn exhaled slowly, and then got up and went over to her cabinet. She stood there for a very long time, her back turned to Tina, and then gathered a few things.

"It could be nothing," Quinn said, pushing back her hair as she came over and sat across from Tina. "But I think I'd better take a couple samples, just to be sure."

"Why wouldn't you be sure?" Tina asked.

Quinn focused very hard on Tina's arm as she prepped it for a blood sample. "Because," she said, picking up her syringe, "the Pill isn't effective right away. You usually need to use back up birth control for a few months. There is a very good chance that you are pregnant."

***

Time was moving slowly to begin with, but for the next twenty-four hours it slowed to a crawl. Tina could barely breathe. Every time she went to the bathroom she looked for those streaks of blood that would mean her freedom, but nothing. Absolutely nothing. She only picked at her food and she found herself sitting in the daycare tapping her fingers, barely paying attention. The only thing she was able to do was sleep- she was exhausted.

She reported back to the infirmary after work the next day and she knew the answer as soon as she looked at Quinn's face. Quinn tried to look blank, but the concern and the sympathy was clear in her eyes.

This time, when Tina cried, it wasn't the hormones at all.

***

"Tina?" Mike was waiting in the New Directions room. "Are you okay?"

Tina stared at him for a long moment. He was still Mike, still concerned and loving. She opened her mouth to tell him, and then shut it again.

"Tina?"

The words were in her mind, but she couldn't force them past her throat. Instead, she just smiled and nodded. "I'm fine, Mike. Just tired."

He believed her. His entire posture relaxed and he lightened and smiled. And when they went to bed, he fell asleep immediately.

Tina lay on her back in the darkness, her arms folded behind her head as she stared at the bunk above her and contemplated all of the options in front of her. The thing was, there just weren't very many options at all.

***

"Have you told Mike yet?" Quinn asked. She was sorting through the bottles of medicine from the new shipment, looking for something.

"Not yet," Tina admitted, perched on a stool and watching her. Quinn's figure was so amazing- you'd never know she'd had a baby.

"You've got to tell him," Quinn said. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but believe me, I speak from experience."

"It's not that," Tina said. "I just don't know what I'm going to do yet."

"You mean keep it or give it up?" Quinn asked. "If you wanted to give it up you probably could; there's a long list of people who want children again."

"I didn't mean either," Tina said. "I meant…." Oh, wow. Saying the words- especially to _Quinn Fabray_, of all people- was a lot harder than she'd ever thought. "I meant terminating."

Quinn's voice was like ice. "You wouldn't do that."

Tina shrugged, trying to look more casual than she felt. But now that she'd said the word, the option felt like it was really on the table. She could get an abortion. "Would it be possible?" she asked.

Quinn drew a little hissing breath in between her teeth. "I don't know," she said, in a clipped sort of tone. "Maybe. A lot of the doctors over on the _Rising Star_ won't do it."

"Will any?" Tina asked. She didn't need a lot of doctors who would do it- she just needed one.

"I don't know," Quinn said. She didn't offer to find out, and the silence hung between them.

"It's not something I want to do," Tina said.

"Then don't," Quinn snapped. She slapped a bottle into Tina's hand. "Take these instead. Prenatal vitamins. They were important enough on the Colonies, but without sunlight, they're essential. Now, don't you have work to do?"

Right. Tina shoved the bottle of vitamins into her pocket. "Thanks," she muttered, and slunk out of the infirmary. Quinn didn't even look up to watch her leave.

It wasn't that she _wanted_ to get an abortion. Tina wasn't rubbing her hands together planning on how to murder a baby. She didn't want to do this at all. But she didn't want to have it, either, and none of her choices were ones that she liked.

She stood against the wall, leaning her head back against the cold metal. This was not good at all.

***

"Attention all passengers. This is Captain Xu. Condition One has been set throughout the Fleet. Prepare to jump."

"Okay, everybody!" Mike shouted. "Jump positions!"

With squeals and shouts, the kids took their spots. "I'm a Viper pilot today!" Brandon shouted. He began making firing noises as he sat in a cardboard box.

Some of the kids got into the game, but others were still pale and shaking. They knew. Just because they were little didn't mean they were stupid. They knew the Cylons had found them again. And if the Cylons hit the _Cybele_, these kids would die without their parents. Or just as bad, if the Cylons hit wherever their parents were for the day, these kids would be orphans. And Tina had seen what happened to orphans in the Fleet.

Running, running, running. That's all they were able to do, that's all they were able to look forward to. She felt the weariness and fear in her bones, saw it in Mike's face when he met her eyes and thought none of the kids were watching them. He was tired and scared too, even as he laughed and joked around for the kids. All the upturned faces, looking to the two of them for protection and reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

How the _hell_ were they supposed to bring a baby into a world like this?

***

She had to talk to _somebody_ about this. Someone who would listen, someone who would help her consider all of the options without judging, someone who _knew_ what it all felt like. And that someone was obvious.

Carole Hudson-Hummel had told them, back in those first days after the attack, that she was thirty-eight. At the time they'd all just laughed because Mr. Hummel was forty-five and the seven year age difference seemed funny. But now, the most important thing to Tina was that Finn was almost nineteen, which meant that Carole must have been twenty when she had him, and probably nineteen when she'd gotten pregnant. Carole would get it.

It was hard to keep her mouth shut for the two days it took for Carole to come home from the _Daru Mozu_, but Tina had had practice acting. After faking a stutter since middle school, this was a piece of cake. She hated shutting Mike out like this, but it wasn't fair to him. Not until she knew if she was going to keep it or not. She waited in the New Directions room, anxious for Carole to come in to get a change of clothing before she headed for the showers.

The door opened and Tina sat up nervously, but instead of Carole, Sam walked in. Tina deflated.

"Hey," Sam said, kneeling down and rummaging through his own clothing.

"Hey," Tina said, and she couldn't keep the disappointment out of her voice.

Sam noticed. "Sorry I wasn't Mike," he said, sounding a lot more snappish than he usually sounded.

"I'm not waiting for Mike. I'm waiting for Carole. Is she coming?"

"Mrs. H? Yeah, but Mr. H. caught her before she could."

"Oh." Which meant it would be _forever_. Those damn hormonal tears sprang to her eyes, which only made things worse because it was a brutal reminder that she was frakking _pregnant_.

"Hey." Sam looked alarmed. "Are you okay?"

Tina shook her head. She was trying to bite back the tears, but the sob burst out of her anyway. "No," she said, wiping her eyes furiously. "No. I'm not okay."

"Do you want me to get Mike?"

"NO! No, I mean." Tina fumbled for a handkerchief. "Can you keep a secret?" she asked. Sam sort of half-shrugged, half looked terrified, but she answered her own question. "Of course you can. You did last year. I'm pregnant."

Sam closed his eyes. "Shit."

"I know," Tina said, and the tears were starting fresh. "I know. I'm pregnant and I'm scared and I don't know what to do and I-"

"Stop," Sam said. "Just stop. Look, Tina, I'm really sorry about this, okay? But I just can't deal with this right now."

_He_ couldn't deal with this? Tina froze up inside. "Well, that's nice of you," she said. "Especially since it's not _your_ problem."

"That's not fair," Sam began, running a hand through his shaggy hair. "There's more to it than that."

"There's more to it than what?" Quinn strode into the room, looking between Sam and Tina. She arched an eyebrow at Tina as she took in Tina's tearstained face. "You told him, then?" she asked. "It's not Mike, but at least it's a step in the right direction." She turned to Sam. "_Please_ tell her that this plan is an abomination, and that she shouldn't go through with it."

"Wait, what plan?" Sam asked, looking back at Tina.

Tina looked at the floor. "I was thinking about getting an abortion."

"Oh." Sam's jaw was set.

"I was just thinking about it!" Tina protested. "I haven't decided anything yet!"

"Well, good, because it's a sin," Quinn said definitively. She gentled a little as she looked at Tina. "You don't have to abort. If you don't want to raise it, find someone else. Beth was really happy with Shelby before the attacks."

"How do you know that?" Sam asked.

Quinn treated him to a flat glare. "It was an open adoption. She sent me letters, dimwit."

Sam straightened up. "You know what, Tina?" he said, still glaring at Quinn. "I think you should ask about it. Consider it. It's not the evil option that some people think it is."

"How can you say that?" Quinn said incredulously. "You went to church."

"Yeah, I went to church. But where are the Gods right now?" Sam asked. "They've already punished us enough- they aren't going to give one flying frak if someone decides to terminate a pregnancy. What are they going to do? Hit the ship with lightning? Set the Cylons on us? It's a little late for that, Quinn, don't you think?"

"It doesn't work like that!" Quinn shot back. "It's not about retribution, it's about your _soul_. Do you really think you could live with the knowledge that you had been instrumental in the death of a person?"

"What, by _not_ bringing a helpless person that I can't support into the world to live in a tin can and be hunted by genocidal robots? This _is_ death, Quinn! It's just a slow one!"

"You don't know that!" Quinn shouted back.

"I know enough!" Sam yelled.

"Oh my Gods." Quinn laughed bitterly, rolling her eyes and tipping her head back. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. I am _so_ glad I broke up with you before I found this out about you."

"I broke up with you," Sam said sullenly. "And besides, right now this isn't about you. It's about Tina."

Quinn took a deep breath and turned to Tina. She had calmed down in that she wasn't shouting, but her face still had that scary, determined look she got when things really upset her. "You can't do this, Tina," she said. "It's not just a sin against the Gods. It's a _baby_. He or she… who knows what they could do? What they could grow up to be? You can't kill your own baby." She wiped at her eyes angrily, and Tina suddenly realized that Quinn was crying. "There are other people in this Fleet who would love it."

"There are other people in this Fleet who are _sick_," Tina said. "We had a girl in the daycare…." A girl she couldn't even begin to help or take care of. Tina closed her eyes. "I can't do this. But I don't trust anyone else to do it, either."

"So you're just going to end it? Like it's _nothing_?"

"What other option is there?" Sam asked dully. "When the world is so frakked up, how can anyone bring a kid into it? I can't give a kid _anything_. I can't even…" he broke off, angry and frustrated. "Until you have to go through this, don't tell me-"

A knock on the door cut him off, and Carole opened it slowly. "Sam? Are you in here?"

Sam swallowed hard and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I'm here," he said. "Is everything okay?"

Carole's face was grim. "There's a problem," she said. "Can I talk to you alone?"

Sam shrugged. "You might as well talk to me in front of them. They know."

They knew? They knew what? And slowly, it dawned on her- Rya must have gotten pregnant and had gotten an abortion. Tina looked at Sam with new sympathy, especially as he turned pale. And Carole must have known, because she looked like Tina felt.

"You'd better come with me, instead," Carole said gently. "There's a newscast you need to see."

***

There were several people gathered around one of the televisions in the passenger cabin, but none of them were from New Directions, except Burt, who was watching with his chin resting on his folded hands. A lot of them were older, or at least older than Tina. The television was tuned to the news station.

"The question of abortion _must_ be addressed." Tina recognized Sarah Porter as Playa Palacios held a microphone out to her. "It is unconscionable that President Roslin has evaded this subject for so long."

"It certainly is a controversial one," Playa agreed.

"Every abortion performed costs a life," Sarah said. "Let's not pretend any differently."

"But not everyone agrees on that," Playa pressed. "The Gemenese interpret Scripture far more strictly than any other Colony, save Sagittaron. Why should the Gemenese beliefs be imposed on those who are not from that Colony?"

"It's not an edict from Gemenon. It is the word of the Gods."

Playa made a face that indicated frustration, and rather than engaging Sarah, changed the subject. "Let's talk about the case that prompted this. A young woman was found on _Galactica_ attempting to obtain an abortion."

"Yes, and the fact she had to go to the _Galactica_ rather than the _Rising Star_ indicates just how many doctors in the Fleet are against this practice," Sarah said.

"Or aren't familiar with the procedure," Playa said firmly. "Of the twenty-two doctors that are in this Fleet, only two of them dealt with obstetrical procedures before the attacks."

"Regardless," Sarah said coldly, "the girl's parents are demanding that she be returned to them."

Sam sat bolt upright, white as a sheet. "They can't do that!" he shouted. Everyone looked at him. "They can't do that," he repeated, this time a little quieter. "Can they?"

"They can," Burt said. "Rya's seventeen. She's still- by law- her parents' property." He snorted a little at that one.

"But they-" Sam began.

"Shh." Carole put her hand on his arm.

"The girl requested asylum," Playa was saying. "Representatives from the President's office indicate that she is thinking of granting it."

Several people in the room murmured at that. Angry murmurs, Tina realized. And the way they were watching Sam, who was huddled over with his face buried in his hands…. The atmosphere was becoming thicker.

"Regardless of the girl's individual decision," Sarah continued, "this issue must be addressed. The President cannot continue to ignore it now that it has been brought to the forefront, especially with the election looming. And without the Gemenese support-"

"The Gemenese will go so far as to withdraw their support of Laura Roslin over the issue of abortion?" Playa asked incredulously.

"Absolutely."

The group around the television exploded into excited conversation, but Carole caught Sam's arm and indicated with a tilt of her head that they should leave. Tina looked at the group- Quinn and Burt were both participating in the conversation- and then back at Carole and Sam. Deciding that at least it was an easy way for her to leave without being noticed, she followed them.

They didn't even make it to New Directions' yellow door before Sam started crying. Tina stood to the side awkwardly as Carole pulled him into a hug. "She's going to be all right. Okay? She's all right. It's okay, Sam. Everything's going to be all right."

***

Tina stood shivering in the docking bay. It wasn't cold, but she was nervous. After Sam's breakdown, she'd sat with him while Carole made a few calls. The calls apparently resulted in a trip over to the _Galactica_, and Tina, Mike, and Mr. Schuester were being pulled along. Sam wanted to keep the whole thing quiet, and said that since Tina already knew that it was good as Mike knowing, so he got drafted. Carole insisted on Mr. Schuester being present, and Sam didn't argue. Tina knew that whatever they were being dragged over to _Galactica_ for had to do with Sam and Rya and her abortion, but she had no clue what the three of them could possibly be needed for, and no one was elaborating.

"Did the doctor take care of it?" Burt asked as he and Mike entered the docking bay. His voice was low and urgent, and Tina realized that this was something that both Burt and Carole had known about for a while.

"I don't know," Carole said. "I couldn't find out."

Mr. Schuester joined Tina and Mike. "Do either of you two know what's going on?" he asked them quietly.

"Nope," Mike said. "I just know we're going over to _Galactica._"

"Okay… but _why_?" Mr. Schuester asked. Mike just shrugged.

Sam was standing helplessly near Burt and Carole, looking a little lost. Tina caught his eye and smiled grimly at him, and Sam broke away a little. She moved from Mr. Schuester and Mike to talk to him privately.

"Are you okay?" Tina thought about asking why he wanted them to come over, but he looked so miserable she couldn't. He probably just needed the moral support.

"Hanging in there," Sam said. "Worried about Rya." He frowned. "This wasn't something we wanted to do, you know."

Tina squeezed his arm sympathetically. "I know."

"Yeah. You would, wouldn't you?" Sam sighed.

"Her parents," Tina began, but Sam laughed bitterly.

"Funny, right?" he said. "Everybody on Gemenon gets so worked up about unborn kids, but it's still legal to physically punish an actual kid who defies her parents like that."

"They're going to…." She didn't want to finish that sentence.

"I have no idea what they're going to do," Sam said. "But they're strict."

Tina was saved from having to say anything else by the blast door opening to reveal a Raptor tucked into the docking bay. It was Finn's Raptor, but the co-pilot was a tall, broad, good-looking man that Tina hadn't met before. He was all muscle and chiseled cheekbones, and his face was kind and sympathetic.

"You guys ready?" Finn asked. "You're going to have to explain this all to me when we get there, because I have _no_ idea what's going on."

"Don't worry about it right now," the co-pilot said. "Remember what I told you about your docking."

"Right. Clip left." Finn focused his attention back on the controls. The two them began talking in low tones, but Tina could hear them laughing as well. Whoever the co-pilot was, Finn obviously liked him.

Mike was still sitting back with Mr. Schuester, and Sam was sitting beside Tina. He looked sick. Tina reached out and squeezed his hand. Sam squeezed back so hard her fingers hurt, and he didn't let go.

***

They were taken to a small conference room on the _Galactica_, Finn leading the way. It wasn't much of a room, but inside was a long table with a man sitting at it. The man was fairly unremarkable in terms of looks, although he wore a rumpled suit coat and a pair of sunglasses. A cat was sitting beside him, and it regarded them warily as they came in.

"Right," the man said, and his voice was clipped with an accent that Tina recognized as being from the Thessaloniki area. He sounded like the movies, anyway. He surveyed their group. "Are you sure you all want to do this?"

It was Carole that spoke. "We're sure, Mr. Lampkin."

"All right." Lampkin pulled the cap off a pen and pulled a stack of papers towards him. "First the adoption. Which one of you is Sam?"

"I am, sir." Sam stepped forward.

Lampkin made a face that suggested he wasn't often called 'sir', but all he said was, "You're under eighteen?"

"I don't turn eighteen for three more weeks, if we've kept track of time right." Sam rummaged through his pocket. "I brought my driver's license."

Lampkin took it, studied it, and then pushed it back across the table to Sam. "All right. So, the first thing we do is make _you_," he pointed at Burt and Carole, "his legal guardians. That's these papers here."

"All right." Carole took the pen and signed first, followed by Burt, who read the whole document thoroughly, first- something Lampkin seemed irritated at.

"Do I need to sign?" Sam asked.

"Nope. Property doesn't," Lampkin said briskly. "But I need two witnesses, both over eighteen. I assume that's you two?" he looked at Mr. Schuester and Finn.

"I don't even know what's going on here," Finn said.

"I don't think Finn can serve as a witness for this one," Carole said. "He's my son."

"You're right." Lampkin handed the pen to Mike instead. "You over eighteen?" Mike nodded. "You're a witness. Sign right there." Mike looked at Carole, who nodded, and then obeyed and handed the pen to Will. Will picked up the document and started to read, his brow furrowed.

"Right. That makes Sam Evans the legal ward of Burt Hummel and Carole Hudson," Lampkin said. "Because she requested and was granted asylum, Rya Kibby is extended the protection of Caprican law, which declares a minor a legal adult at age sixteen."

"Is that legal?" Tina asked, incredulous. "It seems kind of sketchy."

"It is sketchy," Lampkin told her. "That's what we want. Sketchy and confusing. It muddies the waters enough that the prosecution can't answer the question either, and with the rest of the Fleet not being Gemenon, it will be enough. We don't need to be legal- we just need to keep them confused until she turns eighteen." Somehow, Tina didn't find that overly comforting. "So we get her married to _you_," Lampkin jabbed his pen in Sam's direction, "as soon as possible in a legally binding Gemenese ceremony, and then, by Gemenese law, Rya Kibby is now the property of her husband's parents, Carole and Burt Hummel."

"Property," Burt muttered.

"Wait," Mr. Schuester broke in, "I don't understand. If Rya has asylum, that's permenant. She's not subject to Gemenese law."

"Ah, but tell that to Gemenese captains," Romo said, shaking his finger at Mr. Schuester. "She's safe here, where people don't think the Gemenese interpretation is above the others. But put her back on the _Gemenon Traveler_ and you're going to have trouble convincing _them_ that she's now Caprican. And if she's married, her parents have no right to her under Caprican or Gemenese law. To put it succinctly, they're screwed. Problem right now is you've only got three witnesses for the wedding. Gemenese law says you need six, all Gemenese citizens."

"We've got four here," Carole said.

"He doesn't count," Lampkin said, indicating Finn. "They have to be unrelated, and he's Sam's brother now."

"I am?" Finn asked, surprised. "Wow."

"Sorry about that," Sam said.

"No, it's okay. Just… wow." Finn frowned. "Helo's originally from Gemenon."

"That's four."

"Are Mercedes and Puck around?" Carole asked Finn. "They'd be the obvious choices." She brought herself up short. "If that's all right with you, Sam."

Sam shrugged. "Why not? It's not like this can get much worse."

"All right, then," Lampkin said. "Let's have a wedding."

***

Rya was still in the hospital wing. From the little Tina knew about abortion that seemed odd, but Sam wouldn't answer her whispered question and just shut his lips tightly, and Tina figured she'd better not push it. Rya was pale and despondent, and Tina's heart went out to her immediately. Sam sat down by the bed and took her hand, and Carole explained the situation. Tina hung back, unsure of what she should be doing.

"Are you really all right with all this, Burt?" she heard Mr. Schuester ask Mr. Hummel.

Mr. Hummel shrugged. "Guess it's better than the alternative. Besides, it's not like it's not true, really, us being the guardians of the kids and all that. This just makes it legal."

"Still…"

Tina's attention was pulled from them by the arrival of Mercedes and Puck. Mercedes came right over, and she and Tina hugged.

"Did Finn tell you what's happening?" Tina asked.

"He did," Mercedes said. She glanced over at the tableau by the bed. "How's Rya doing?"

"I don't know. I haven't had a chance to ask her," Tina said. She looked at Mercedes, remembering those days after Mr. Hummel had had his heart attack. "Mercedes…. You know why she's here?"

"I figured it out," Mercedes said. But the sympathy on her face didn't waver. There weren't going to be any lectures about gods and killing and sins- just sympathy for the pain Rya was in right now. Tina squeezed her hand in gratitude.

The wedding ceremony was an awkward one. Rya managed to get out of bed, but the gruff, grumpy doctor made it clear that he didn't want her leaving the infirmary. Tina wished she'd known what they were coming over for, because she could have brought Rya something better to wear than a hospital gown. Rya and Sam stood together in the center, with Carole and Burt flanking them. Mr. Schuester, Mike, Tina, Mercedes, and Puck formed a semi-circle around them.

The priest wasn't Gemenese. He was an older man named Brother Cavil, and he seemed to find the whole thing ludicrous. "Because chaining two people's lives together is the best way to ensure a happy family," was his assessment.

"It's more than that," Sam said. "If I didn't love her I'd just let her go back to her parents, or petition the President or something." That seemed to mollify Brother Cavil, and the ceremony began.

Sam _did_ love Rya, Tina knew that. And she knew that Rya loved Sam. But as they stood hand in hand, both of them were just so joyless and solemn. They said their words and vows and promised to love and be faithful and obey from here until eternity, and Tina knew they meant their promises. But it was still depressing when it should have been uplifting. She kept a smile plastered on her face and avoided meeting anyone's eyes, and waited for the ceremony to end.

***

Rya had to stay on the _Galactica_ another night, and Sam had to be back at work the next morning. After kicking Puck as he tried to make a few really inappropriate comments about the wedding night, Tina hugged Rya goodbye and headed back to the Raptor with the others.

"It's going to be okay, honey," Carole told Sam, squeezing his hand. "The circumstances aren't great, but that doesn't mean you won't have a happy marriage. Chris and I would have been happy if he hadn't been killed."

"I know," Sam said, but Carole's words did seem to lift his spirits. He was even smiling when they climbed into the Raptor.

"Don't suppose you can get music in this thing," Burt joked to Finn once they had launched off the _Galactica_. "If nothing else just so Carole and I can fight over the station and get a little revenge?"

"Funny," Finn said dryly. "But as it happens…" he flipped a switch and the sound of a newscast filled the air. It was President Roslin's voice, but she sounded strange. "Whoa," Finn said, listening. "Did a ship blow up or something?"

She did sound like she was almost crying, Tina realized. "Since assuming the Presidency, I've made it my mission to maintain the rights and freedoms we so enjoyed prior to the attack. One of these rights has now come into direct conflict with the survival of the species, and I find myself forced to make a very difficult decision," Roslin said in a measured, shaking voice.

"Oh, no," Carole said quietly, and Tina's stomach twisted. On some level, she knew exactly what Roslin was going to say before she said it.

Roslin took a deep breath. "The fact is that if the civilization is to survive, we must, must repopulate this fleet. Therefore, I'm issuing an executive order. From this day forward, anyone seeking to interfere with the birth of a child, whether it be the mother or a medical practitioner, shall be subject to criminal penalty. Thank you."

The newscast exploded into questions, but Finn flicked the switch off. Silence filled the Raptor.

"Sam?" Carole said, leaning forward. "Are you okay, honey?" But Sam wasn't looking at Carole. He was staring at Tina.

For a long moment, the words didn't penetrate Tina's brain. Then they started to trickle in slowly. _Anyone seeking to interfere with a birth of a child, whether it be the mother or a medical practitioner, shall be subject to criminal penalty._ Such clinical words to tell her that abortion was illegal. One of her choices, completely gone. Completely cut off from her.

It was ridiculous to be upset. She hadn't even decided to have an abortion, after all. She'd seen just a bit of what Rya had to go through, seen the look on her face and the way Sam cried. The decision to terminate that pregnancy wasn't one that they'd made easily, and they were both suffering for it. She didn't know if she could go through with it herself. But then she thought of having a baby _now_, of all times, and she didn't know that she couldn't, either. But she was going to have to, because the choice wasn't there anymore. Tina knew she had been very lucky on the morning sickness front, but right now she had the urge to puke all over the Raptor.

Oh gods, she was going to have a _baby_.

She couldn't even look at Mike right now, because she couldn't bear to see his expression. It was probably confusion, worry, or compassion, but right now, she just couldn't. Instead, she reached on and squeezed the hand Sam offered her, holding on like her life depended on it.

***

She had to face Mike sooner rather than later. When they climbed off the Raptor, neither of them felt like going to the New Directions room. They walked side by side down the corridors, and Tina knew they were headed for the quiet nursery.

"So," Mike said.

"So."

Mike shoved his hands in his pockets. "She was pregnant, wasn't she?"

"She was. Dr. Cottle did a…" the word stuck on her tongue.

"Yeah." Mike whistled through his teeth. "That's got to be tough on her."

"Yeah."

"She was the one Roslin and Porter were fighting over?"

"Yeah." Tina twirled a piece of hair between her fingers.

"Are you okay?" Mike asked, his brow furrowed as he studied her. "I mean, I know it's not cheerful, but you seem really out of it."

"I am," Tina said. She stopped, and Mike stopped, too.

"Tina? What is it?"

He looked so worried about her, so loving. Those damn tears started again, but this time, she couldn't resent them. "I'm pregnant," she said.

"What?" Mike's mouth hung open after he spoke the word.

"I'm pregnant." Her voice was choking up again. "I know I'm on the Pill, but I guess I took it wrong and you have to be careful the first few months and… oh gods, Mike, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You're pregnant?" Mike repeated.

"I know, and I didn't want to ruin your life with it but-"

"Ruin my life? Mike laughed bitterly. "Tina, my life's been… you're pregnant." He was crying now, too, not sobs but tears just streaking down his face. "The thought crossed my mind but…. You're pregnant."

"I said I was sorry, and I was going to-" Tina began, but she broke off when Mike suddenly fell down to his knees in front of her, arms wrapped around her waist and his face buried in her abdomen.

"Mike?"

He pulled back, and his hand splayed across her belly. "You're pregnant," he repeated again, and this time Tina finally realized there was wonder and _happiness_ in his voice. She stared down at him.

"You're happy about this? You're nuts."

Mike shook his head. "I know. I know it's crazy. But I'm happy."

There were people watching them now, smiling little smiles because Mike's posture left very little to the imagination. "Stand up," Tina said, grabbing his wrist and hauling him to his feet. She pulled him the last few yards to their nursery, unlocked the door, and then pulled him in. "You're joking," she said, once the door was closed behind them.

Mike shook his head. "Don't freak out about this, okay?" he said, catching her hands and sitting down on the table. "It's not like I have a plan or a gun or pills or anything. But have you ever wondered what we're living for?" There was no humor in his face, and Tina didn't like his expression.

"Mike…"

"I'm just saying. We've lost our parents and our families, and we're here working this job we didn't want and there's no end in sight. And Earth… it's not going to happen. Even the President is giving up."

"What?"

Mike shrugged. "Why would she outlaw abortion if there's an entire planet of humans out there?"

"It's a political move," Tina said impatiently. "Anyone can see that." Because the pandering of one politician was a lot less depressing than Earth not being real. Mike shook his head and left the subject.

"Anyway, the thing is, Earth's… I can't hope for it anymore. I want to, but I can't. I can't picture it. I don't even know where to start. But a baby… it's something we can hope for again. Something real. Something _good._ I'd never thought of it, but when you said it… it was like being hit with light, you know? I'm scared, yeah, but at the same time… it's good."

Tina stared at him, amazed. _Good_ was the last word she'd use to describe this. But even more than the new law, the look on Mike's face told her she'd better get used to it, because this baby was here to stay.

***

"You told him?" Quinn asked incredulously. "And he was _happy_?"

"Really happy," Tina said. She hugged her pillow closer to her. "He's so excited."

"I told you it would all work out," Quinn said.

"You had no idea he would react like that," Tina said dryly.

Sam leaned forward. "You know, that's great," he said. "But what about what _you_ want? Do you want this baby?"

Tina shrugged. "I don't know. But I've got time to get used to it, I guess." She chewed her lip. "Do you regret it? What you and Rya did?"

"No," Sam said. He very carefully avoided looking at Quinn. "I mean, I regret that we ever had to even make the decision. But it was the right one for us." He looked comfortable with that. "But it's different."

"How?"

Sam shrugged. "You're not Rya and Mike's not me. That's all that needs to be different, don't you think?"

Tina nodded absently. "Mike's right, you know," she said finally. "College isn't happening, and life in the Fleet might suck, but we'll be able to take care of a baby. Probably better than lots of people, given what we do."

"Yeah, but looking after other peoples' kids isn't having your own," Sam said.

"Carole said she didn't want Finn at first," Tina said with a sigh. "But when he showed up, she was excited. I guess I'll get used to it." She smiled. Her smile was forced, but forcing it was getting easier. Mike's happiness made a world of difference, not because it made this all right, but because it removed one of the things Tina had feared the most from this pregnancy. She had so little left to lose- she didn't want to lose Mike because she'd gotten pregnant. Now that she knew that wasn't happening, everything seemed a little easier.

Maybe it would be okay, after all.

***

The pendant was small and simple, set with a microscopic sapphire chip. "Tina," Mike said, draping it across her hand as they sat at the table, "will you marry me?"

Tina stared at the pendant for a long time, and then placed it back in Mike's open hand. "No," she said.

"No?" The intensity of his sad expression was almost comical. "But-"

"Let me finish," Tina said, closing his hand around the pendant. "I don't know if I want to marry you or not. I think I probably do, someday. But right now, I'm pregnant. I don't want to get married because of this baby. I don't want what Sam and Rya have, what Carole and her husband had. You were right, Mike, that we've lost everything to hope for. I don't know how much choice we have anymore in what we want to do with our lives. We certainly aren't going to college. I didn't get to choose to get pregnant, and I don't get to choose what happens to this baby. This is the one time I can choose. And what I choose is to wait until we're sure. I want us to get married because we love each other, not because someone or society says we have to."

Mike nodded. "Okay," he said, and then frowned. "So, should I ask you again?"

Tina grinned. "How about when I'm ready, I'll ask you?"

"It's not fair," Mike complained. "You already know my answer."

"Well, it will just make it that much easier to ask," Tina said lightly. She covered their joined hands with her free hand. "I love you, Mike. I just need to do this on my own time. To be sure I'm doing it for the right reasons."

Mike nodded. "I guess I can't ask for more than that." He leaned across the table and kissed her.

It was way, way too early to feel the baby moving, but Tina was suddenly very aware that the baby was _there_, inside her, and in less than a year it would be the three of them. The three of them together, and if they were lucky, they'd be a family bound by love, not by obligation. It was more than most people had anymore, and for the first time since she'd found out she was pregnant, Tina felt like she might actually be lucky.

She guided Mike's hand to her stomach and they both smiled.


	7. Burnt to the Core but Not Broken

_"Holy crap," Lauren said as they stood by a window on the second floor of the school. Her hand closed hard around his arm, leaving bruises._

"Get down!" Coach Beiste threw him to the floor. A load of rubble tumbled down with a crash, a heavy girder landing right where he'd been standing.

"We have to get out of here!" He remembered shouting it as another explosion shook the earth and he stood at the top of a flight of stairs, poised for flight. "We've got to get back to Gemenon and-"

"We're not getting back to Gemenon right now! Get down there!" Coach Beiste again, shoving him forward.

The big yellow and black sign, announcing a fallout shelter.

The slamming of a door, the clicking of a lock as the tumblers fell into place, the whirring of a generator starting.

And then silence.

It was the silence that made Blaine startle awake and sit up, wet with cold sweat and shivering, clutching the thin blanket. The eerie silence that stretched through his nightmares was worse than anything that came before it.

In the bunk below him, Lauren snored. The rickety frame shook as she turned over. Something about that was comforting, and Blaine began to breathe again. He carefully swung his legs around and slid down, landing on the cold cement floor as lightly as he could. He paused, waiting, but no one woke up.

The other four inhabitants of the fallout shelter were asleep. Blaine picked up the small safety lamp that they kept lit when they were asleep and headed for the bathroom. Once he was safely inside he shut the door and flipped on the light, and his muscles relaxed as he could see again. The bathroom was echoing, with rows of stalls and sinks on one side, and rows of showers on the other. Blaine sat down in the corner, pulling his knees up to his chest and breathing deep.

Six days. It had been six days since the bombs went off and Coach Beiste had hustled them all in here. Six days since they'd sat around the radio, listening in horror to the broadcasts. The broadcasts had ended after only an hour, leaving them frustrated and in the dark. They had no idea of what was going on, except that there had been a massive nuclear attack. That was the worst, not knowing.

They'd missed the All-Colony Show Choir Championship, that was for sure. Blaine didn't even want to know what his parents were imagining. And Kurt. Gods, Kurt. Blaine fumbled at his wrist where his soma bracelet usually was, but there was only bare skin. He remembered, just a week ago, tying the bracelet around Kurt's wrist in a sappy sort of gesture that they'd both laughed at, saying that it would remind Kurt of him for the few days they were apart. The joke didn't seem so funny anymore.

Six days of being trapped in a fallout shelter with Coach Beiste and three wrestlers. The wrestlers had come a few days early to get used to the altitude before the championship, and Blaine, as the team's manager, had been dragged along. He'd agreed to manage the wrestling team in an attempt both to make some friends outside of New Directions and to placate his father. Sean, Anthony, and Lauren were good people, but if he'd had to make a choice between being trapped in a bunker with them or New Directions, he'd have taken New Directions any day of the week, even without Kurt.

Tomorrow would be better, he told himself. Tomorrow, Coach said that they'd suit someone up and send them out with the RAD monitor to see what the situation was. Tomorrow they'd know more. But until then, Blaine was pretty sure he wasn't going to sleep. He closed his eyes and knocked his head back against the wall, playing with the bare skin on his wrist and resigning to a long night.

***

"All right. Who's suiting up in this thing?" Coach Beiste asked.

The wrestlers all looked at each other. Lauren would have liked to volunteer, but the suit wasn't made for someone with her dimensions. Kind of stupid, really, to put such a small one in here. As long as everything was sealed it didn't matter if a radiation suit was too big. But then, that was Caprican thinking for you.

"Come on," Beiste said. "I need a volunteer, gentlemen. Someone step up to the plate before I volunteer you myself."

The three guys could all fit in, no problem. Lauren glared at each of them in turn, but they all seemed to be avoiding her gaze. Finally, Blaine cleared his throat and raised his hand. "I'll go."

"About time." Beiste held out the suit. "Climb on in, kid, and we'll pin you up. It might be like putting a yip dog in sheep's clothing, but we can make it work." Blaine looked like he was going to comment on the analogy, but then obviously thought better of it and focused on putting the suit on instead.

He was in the middle of pulling on the arms when they heard it- voices outside. Muffled shouting, but definitely voices. It could be rescue. It could be something a lot worse.

"Get a gun," Beiste ordered, picking up one herself. There were only two in the place, but when Lauren grabbed the other one, no one argued. Blaine stood there, half in his suit and half out of it, eyes wide and looking ridiculous as the voices came closer. Lauren moved closer to Beiste.

"You ever shot one of these before?" Beiste asked her.

"No. But it's just point and pull the trigger, right?"

Beiste grinned down at her. "Something like that." She looked at the guys. "Get behind us," she ordered, just as the door began to open.

"Looks like it's stocked, and- whoa!" There was a click of a gun and a woman was suddenly pointing a pistol at them. "Anders! Get down here now!"

Lauren raised her gun, taking aim at the woman. She was wiry and red-headed, and on closer inspection she was filthy. And scared. Lauren could see that- she was completely freaked out. But she kept the gun up, so Lauren didn't put her own rifle down. Neither did Beiste, she noticed, although the guys all had their hands up.

"Jean? What's going on?" A very good looking man with brown hair approached and peered in over her shoulder, then tried to push her arm down. "It's okay, Jean," he said. "They're not Cylons."

"How do you know, Sam?"

"They're kids," Sam said. "Look at them. They're high school kids. At a high school."

"She's not." Jean pointed her gun at Beiste.

"Of course I'm not," Beiste said. "You think a bunch of high school kids are going to be running around unsupervised? I'm their coach."

"Their coach, huh?" Sam asked, looking at them better. "Pyramid team?"

"Wrestling. So how about we put the guns down and you tell us what's going on? What the hell are you talking about with Cylons?"

"What's going on?" Jean asked, sounding slightly hysterical. "You don't know?"

"We've been in this fallout shelter for six days," Beiste said. "How are we supposed to know?"

Jean and Sam looked at each other, and something in their faces changed then. Jean lowered her gun. Lauren watched her for a minute and then lowered hers when Beiste did. "What's going on?" Beiste repeated.

"It's the Cylons," Sam said. "They nuked everything. All twelve Colonies. We're about the last people left alive in the universe."

Sean laughed. Jean snapped her head around and glared at him. "What?" he asked, shrugging. "You expect us to believe that? No one's heard from the Cylons in, what, forty years? And you want us to believe they nuked _everything_?"

Sam's expression didn't change. "That's exactly what we're telling you," he said. "Come on out. You'll see what's happened."

Beiste looked back at them, and then shrugged. "We'd better go," she said. "There's just something about this…"

She didn't finish the sentence, but Lauren had a damn good guess as to what she was thinking. There was something about this that was too unbelievable to be made up. There was something about this that made it feel _real._ She took a deep breath and braced herself for what she was about to see.

***

Sam and Jean were Samuel T. Anders and Jean Barolay of the Caprica Buccaneers. Shannon hadn't recognized them at first, but when they'd gone up into the sunlight and she'd gotten a better look at their faces and seen Sue-Shaun Lashley, it clicked. It wasn't just the pyramid team up here, either, but a group of almost a hundred people, all milling around the Delphi Union High School courtyard. Shannon stared at them, blinking to adjust her eyes to the light.

The high school looked a little beat up, with cracks in the walls and spots where mortar or stone had fallen down. But the forest around them looked the same as it had. The trees were still standing, with green leaves and sunshine filtering through. "What the hell?" Shannon asked.

Anders shrugged. "They bombed Delphi, but we're far enough out that we didn't get the brunt of the blast. Just the radiation. Speaking of which, you and your kids need meds."

"Meds?"

Jean spoke up. "Anti-radiation meds. We raided a hospital about ten klicks from here. The meds will last us for a few months, but we're going to need to find another supply."

Shannon nodded. Meds, food, water… guns. She noticed they all had guns. "Raid someplace for those, too?" she asked, pointing at the weapons.

"Old military stores," Anders explained tersely.

"How many other survivors are there?" Shannon asked. "Down in the city?" Silence. Awful, terrible silence. Shannon let out a low whistle. "That many, huh? And you're sure about the other Colonies?"

"We're sure," Jean said, her face hard and set.

"How can you be? We stopped getting radio transmissions about an hour after the bombs started going off."

"We got them for three hours after," Anders explained. "We heard them from Gemenon and Scorpia and Canceron… it's the same thing on all the planets."

Shannon couldn't quite believe it. She'd have to listen to them, see the cities, see the stores, see the _bodies_. And even then, the idea that it wasn't only Caprica that was decimated was unbelievable. But at the same time, even though it wasn't that simple, Shannon knew they were telling the truth, or at least near as they knew it.

"Frak me," she said finally, because what else was there to say?

Anders sat down next to her. "My thoughts exactly."

***

"So that's what we've got," Coach Beiste finished. The wrestling team was sitting in a circle in an abandoned classroom. Blaine was vaguely aware that the others looked horrified, but mostly he was clenching the desk he was sitting on and trying not to throw up. His entire body was shaking, but for some reason he wasn't crying. Not right now. "Anderson," Coach Beiste said. "You okay?"

He had to swallow three times before he could answer. "Yes." It was better than saying he was scared out of his frakking mind.

Coach Beiste didn't look like she believed him, but she didn't press him, either. "Now, here's the thing," she continued, addressing them all. "Anders tells me they're fighting back. And the way I see it, we don't have much of a choice. Because if he's right, there's no place to run, and it's just a matter of time before we all die from radiation poisoning or the Cylons find us and shoot us."

Blaine's fingers curled tighter around the desk. The shaking was becoming almost uncontrollable.

"What about Gemenon?" Anthony Rashad asked. He was an extremely attractive middle-weight that Blaine vaguely remembered played football as well. "People survived here on Caprica. Is there any chance that people survived in Lima?"

Coach Beiste shook her head. "Trust me, kid, I want to believe that they did. But according to Anders, we survived because of the altitude, the fallout shelter, and the fact that this school is so cut off from everything. He says the Cylons are going through even the little towns shooting people and hauling off the corpses. I'm sorry, guys, but with that information, I'd say everyone in Lima is dead. I wish I could tell you something else, but we've got to face the facts. And the facts are we're on Caprica, we're alive for now, and we've been found by a resistance group. There's really only one thing we can do."

"Kick some Cylon ass?" Lauren said.

Coach Beiste smiled at her. "Kick some Cylon ass," she agreed.

Sean and Anthony seemed to cheer up at that thought. Well, maybe not _cheer up_, but they liked it, that much was obvious. They started talking about revenge and survival and resisting. Blaine just sat in silence, watching them. When it became too much, he slipped out of the classroom.

It was cooler out in the courtyard. Blaine gasped down huge mouthfuls of air like gulps of fresh water, before he remembered that the air was irradiated and the only reason it wasn't poisonous to him were the anti-radiation meds in his bloodstream. He slumped down against the wall, hugging his knees.

He tried to pray. His mouth formed the words he knew from a lifetime of going to temple, and they came out sounding fervent. But nothing about those words moved him. He'd felt all sorts of things when he'd prayed before- duty, belief, comfort, anguish, obligation, guilt, joy. He'd never once felt like this, where his insides were cold and cracked and the words glanced off him, even as he clung desperately to them. He fell silent, unable to finish.

"Hey." Blaine looked up. Anders was standing in front of him. He was a tall, really good-looking man with muscles, brown hair, and a friendly sort of face. Blaine was a Pyramid fan and had seen Anders play, but he looked a lot different now, out of the uniform and dressed in regular clothes. "Are you okay?" Anders asked.

"No," Blaine admitted. He didn't want to say it- this was _Sam Anders_- but something about Anders' face short-circuited the filter between mind and mouth.

Anders sat down beside him. "Yeah. Can't say I blame you." He had a ball and was tossing it from hand to hand. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Eighteen," Blaine said dully. "Nineteen in a few weeks."

Anders whistled between his teeth. "Shit."

"Yeah."

This was where the pep talk was supposed to go, Blaine thought sourly. This was where he was supposed to get the _hey, kid, cheer up, we're gonna beat this, you've just got to believe in yourself_ schtick that he was sure any teacher he knew would have given them. Instead, Anders just sat there next to him, tossing the ball back and forth and not filling the silence. Maybe he saw it coming. Maybe he just didn't know what to say. Either way, when the tears started running down Blaine's cheeks and he started shaking, trying to hold back the sobs, Anders just reached out and rubbed Blaine's shoulder. It wasn't a gesture of comfort as much as a gesture of acceptance, and Blaine buried his face in his up-drawn knees and sobbed until his chest ached.

It felt like hours but probably wasn't anywhere close to that when Blaine had to stop crying. Not because it had helped- he still felt as broken and twisted and terrible as before- but because his body was rebelling. He let the tears stop and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"Feel any better?" Anders asked him.

"No."

"Yeah. It doesn't help me, either." Anders picked the ball back up. "I can't tell you how many times I've done that this past week, and every time I keep thinking it'll help. It doesn't."

"I feel like an idiot," Blaine admitted, staring at his shoes.

"Why? Because you're crying?" Anders asked incredulously. "This whole thing is frakked up. If you weren't crying, I'd be thinking you were a sociopath."

That made Blaine laugh a little. "Guess it's good I'm crying then," he said. He tipped his head back against the wall.

Anders patted his shoulder again. "Look. I can't tell you it's all going to be okay, because we both know it's not. We know who's going to win in the end. But we're not going down without a fight, got it?" Blaine nodded, and Anders smiled grimly. "Good. Now, let's see if we can find something to keep you busy, okay? That makes it a little better." Anders got to his feet and then reached down to haul Blaine to his. "Come on. Let's go see if you can help out in the kitchen."

It was an order couched in a suggestion, but Blaine didn't mind. He followed Anders back into the high school and towards the cafeteria. _Keep busy._ It wasn't much, but it was all he could do.

***

The sounds of bullets were like music to Lauren's ears. "That," she said, watching in satisfaction, "is awesome."

"I know, right?" Jean sat back on her heels, examining the gun she had been testing. "It's like we found this whole new toy section in a store." She looked back down the range at the spot where they'd set up bottles. "Three out of five. Beat that, Zizes."

"I will." She didn't know if she could, but Beiste had told her if there was one thing you needed to shoot a gun properly, it was confidence. You had to be _sure_ when you were firing that sucker or it would come back to haunt you. She'd seen evidence of that in the past two days.

She hit two of her five bottles. Not great, but not awful, considering the first time she'd ever held a gun was when Beiste shoved one at her in the fallout shelter. Jean nodded in approval as she surveyed the results.

"We probably should wrap it up for the day," Jean said, looking down at their stock. "There's a fine line between using ammo to learn to shoot and wasting it."

"Yeah." Lauren sighed, and then squinted at the sun. "Dinner's probably almost over, too."

They walked back towards the school companionably. The Resistance had managed to get a pretty good stash of supplies. Between scavenging a hospital, a small military base, and houses and small towns along the way, they'd accumulated weapons, medicine, food, and trucks.

"What are we doing for gasoline?" she asked, nodding at them.

"There's a station not too far away," Jean said. "But I don't know how much more the tank there's got in it. We're going to have to find a new source soon."

"That's going to be our new theme song, isn't it?" Lauren asked. "We need to find more?"

Jean laughed. "Yeah. Probably."

Dinner was served in the high school's cafeteria. The ninety-seven people who now made up the Resistance only filled about half of it. Jean veered off to talk to some of the other Buccaneers, and Lauren spotted Blaine sitting down at a table, an apron over his clothes.

"Hey," she said, after she'd gotten a bowl of stew. "You're cooking?"

Blaine looked up at her and smiled. "Yeah," he said. "I figured I could at least be useful."

Lauren looked at him skeptically. "You're not pulling that Sagittaron stuff about non-violence, are you?"

Blaine snorted. "Hardly," he said. "It's just that I've tried to shoot a gun. You ever see those _Galaxy Battles_ movies? The ones with the clones all in white uniforms?"

"The ones that can't hit the broad side of a barn," Lauren said, seeing exactly where this was going.

Blaine nodded. "If I wasn't too short, I'd totally be one of them."

Lauren couldn't help rolling her eyes. "That's just pathetic, Anderson."

"Tell me about it. The best I can do is aim at one Cylon and hope maybe my aim is off enough that I hit the one three down from him." Blaine flashed that charming smile again- the one he used when he was being self-deprecating. "I heard they're getting ready to start trying something more than raids."

"Like taking on toasters?" Lauren asked, raising her eyebrows. "Awesome."

"Yeah. Awesome." Blaine didn't look nearly so enthusiastic anymore.

Lauren leaned into his space. "What's your issue, Anderson?" she asked. "Because you said it's not being a Saggie."

"You don't have any problems with facing down a bunch of clawed, shooting robots?" Blaine asked.

"So you're scared," Lauren said.

"In a word, _yes._ I really think that it's completely reasonable."

"It is," Lauren agreed.

"So aren't you?" Blaine prompted when she didn't say anything more. "Aren't you scared?"

"No."

He goggled at her. "How can you not be?"

Lauren shrugged. "What's left to lose?"

That made Blaine turn pale and look back down at his stew. Lauren wished she could feel bad about it, but it was the truth. _This_ was life now- or something like life- and there was no point in deluding themselves into thinking otherwise. All they could hope for was to give the Cylons one massive middle finger before they kicked off.

Blaine stared at his bowl for a long moment, and then pushed it away and stood up and left the table, not saying a word. Lauren watched him go. For a minute she thought she should follow, but it wasn't like there was anyone around them. If Blaine wanted to talk, he would have talked. He needed to be alone.

Lauren couldn't help wondering exactly how long Blaine was going to last. If she had money, she'd put it on him being the first in their little group to go. The thought sent chills down her spine.

She shook it off and pulled her stew towards her and began to eat.

***

The days evolved into routines of sorts, and they all had their jobs to keep the Resistance going. The school became a sort of home. The weather started getting a little cooler, and the leaves were turning colors and falling from the trees. They stood outside at night in the courtyard, because there wasn't a lot of diesel to run the generators and fires were the best way to get light.

The flames flickered in metal trash bins. "I'm trying not to think that it makes me feel homeless," Anthony said, holding his hands out to warm them.

"How cold is it going to get around here, anyway?" Sean asked. "Does it snow a lot in Delphi?"

"Don't know," Shannon said. She stared into the fire and made a note to talk to Anders about raiding houses for some warmer clothes. The problem was that the Cylons were patrolling sort of nearby, and the last thing they needed to do was give away the location of the base. "How are you guys holding up?"

Anthony shrugged. "How do you think?"

They were holding up. All of her guys had a grim look about them, but they were still going. Even Blaine was still at least putting one foot in front of the other. He was huddled in a jacket next to Zizes right now, his hands extended towards the flames. Lauren wrapped a scarf around his neck in a protective sort of gesture, and he flashed a smile at her before turning back to his own thoughts.

A beacon of light flared for a second and a whistle came down from the gates of the fence that surrounded the school. Shannon looked over her shoulder to see Anders and his squad returning from the forest. They were filthy, but they were intact. Anders strode into the center of the courtyard. "I need three squads, armed and ready to go," he shouted. "We also need three trucks. Let's go, people!"

Shannon turned to her kids. "You heard the man," she ordered. "Let's get our guns and go."

The shift into action felt good. Shannon had only gone out on raids four times now, and each time she got to blow some of those frakkers up she felt a little better. More purposeful. Like she'd taken one step closer to her goal. She made sure her kids went off to get what they needed. She wasn't going to lie- it bugged her to see these four kids pulling on flak jackets and picking up rifles, but there weren't exactly any other choices. She picked up her own gun and made her way over to Anders.

"What have we got?" she asked.

Anders shook his head. He looked spooked. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Tell me anyway. Because if it's true, I need to know what it is before I haul my guys in there."

Anders nodded. "Mass grave," he said shortly. "Mass grave and Cylons. And not just Centurions."

"What other kinds of Cylons are there?" Shannon asked.

"The human kind," Anders said. He looked up at her, and she saw just how hard he was struggling to keep it together. "The kind that look so human you'd never know otherwise."

"You're right," Shannon said. "I don't believe you."

"Told you you wouldn't," Anders said with a grim smile. "But like you said, at least now you know."

They climbed aboard the truck. Shannon sat in back with her guys, watching them. Anthony and Sean had their heads close together, talking. Lauren seemed to be playing rock, paper, scissors with Jean. Blaine was leaning back against the wall of the truck, his eyes closed, his lips moving. Shannon had the feeling he might be praying. Praying, or just calming himself down. Either one worked.

The trucks lurched to a stop, and she jumped out, automatically counting each kid as they clambered out. The surrounding forest was dark and silent, with just the sounds of breathing and people moving to break it up.

"All right," she heard Anders order in a low, rough voice. "It's one klick this way. Let's go. Stay covered, stay down, and when we get there, on my signal, let all hell break loose." They all fell into line.

She smelled the gravesite first. The rancid stench of decaying flesh and worse assaulted her nose, and she pulled her shirt up over it to shield herself from the smell. Their pace slowed, and she caught sight of the flickers in the shadows that meant firelight was up ahead. Finally, she reached the point where she could peer out of the brush to see.

"Oh my Gods," she heard Anthony whisper. "Look at the size of that grave!"

It was probably huge. There were a lot of people in Delphi. But she couldn't look, because her eyes were fixed on the Cylons. For hell's sake, Anders was right. They looked human. So completely human, and yet absolutely identical. There were several of them, all men with short brown hair and plain faces and bad clothes, as well as a lot of the mechanical ones. They moved about, complaining as they pulled corpses into the grave.

"Shit, Coach," Lauren said. "Do you see them?"

"I see 'em, all right," Shannon said. She picked up her gun. "You guys got it?"

Three of her four kids picked up their guns, ready for the signal. But Blaine stood there, motionless, staring at the scene in front of him. "Anderson," she whispered. He didn't move. Shannon leaned over and knocked his arm. "Anderson! Are you okay?"

Blaine snapped back to reality. "I… Yeah. I'm okay. They're just-"

"They're not human," Shannon told him firmly. "Don't go thinking that, okay, kid? I know they look like it. But they're not."

Blaine nodded jerkily, and Shannon shouldered her gun again, then looked back at Anders. She held her breath, tensed, and then finally there it was. The signal.

Gunshot ran out, shattering the silence. The Cylons began dropping. Some fired back, but all Shannon was aware of was the way her rifle kicked back against her shoulder and the deafening sound of the guns, the falling bodies, and the way the firelight flickered. They had caught the Cylons by surprise, and it wasn't a battle as much as a wipeout. When the smoke cleared, the Cylons lay dead on the ground.

"You guys okay?" she asked her kids.

"Yeah," Anthony said breathlessly. He was looking at the field, a smile spreading across his lips. Sean and Lauren high-fived.

Anders waved them forward. Most everyone followed, but Shannon noticed that Blaine was still standing stock still, staring out at the site.

"Anderson. Come on. We've got work to do." She knocked his shoulder with his arm.

He startled out of his trance. "Yes, ma'am."

The smell became even stronger as they appproached. Corpses were nasty business, especially these- they had to be at least two or three weeks old. Shannon couldn't even look at the grave of all those dead people. Instead, she stared down at a humanoid Cylon at her feet, nudging him with the butt of her gun.

His eyes hadn't closed when he'd fallen. They stared up at her. There was no beeping, no fizzling sound of failing wiring like she kind of thought there would be. She crouched down, studying the corpse. He really did look human. He even _smelled_ human.

"Well, shit," she said, turning the body over.

"That's really a Cylon?" Lauren asked, looking over her shoulder. "That is some creepy shit."

"No kidding," Shannon said. "It's not even like twins. They're really copies." Lauren shuddered. Shannon glanced up at her. "You go over to the grave?"

"Nah," Lauren said. "Anthony and Blaine did. I think they wanted to pray or something. Me, I don't need to look at a pile of dead bodies."

"It's not necessarily a bad thing," Shannon corrected her. "Remember why we're fighting."

"You think I can forget?" Lauren asked her, arching an eyebrow.

Shannon smiled grimly at her. "No. I guess not." She stood up and clapped Lauren on the shoulder. "Come on. We did what we came here to do. Let's get our guys and get our asses back on those trucks."

Lauren went off to get Sean, and Shannon headed over to the grave to collect Anthony and Blaine. It seemed like there was something of a commotion over there, and as she got closer, Shannon saw exactly what it was. An old man- obviously a priest of some sort given his dress- was talking to Anders. "What's happening?" she asked, coming in between Anthony and Blaine.

Anthony answered her first. "They found him in the grave," he said. "He was still alive. Amazing, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Wow." Shannon was impressed. She wondered how many other humans were hidden in little cubbies and hideaways, still outlasting the Cylons. They couldn't have been the only ones who sought refuge in fallout shelters. She shook her head. This wasn't a time for wondering or anything like that- this was a time for getting the frak out of here. "Get to the truck," she ordered the boys. "It's time to haul ass."

Anthony nodded and went off easily, but Blaine hesitated, still staring down into the grave. "Don't look, Anderson," she said, because the sight really was gruesome. "Just get going."

"All right." But he'd looked, and taken it to heart. She could see the horror in his eyes.

Shit.

She made sure all of her guys were headed towards the trucks, then fell into step alongside Anders. "Everything okay?" she asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. As okay as it can be," he said. "You see what I meant about the Cylons?"

Shannon nodded. "Frakked up shit, right there."

"To put it mildly." Anders cocked a little grin at her, one that didn't reach his eyes.

"Makes you wonder if they only look like that," Shannon continued.

"Yeah. I'm wondering the same thing." Anders slung his gun over his shoulder and lengthened his step a little in order to keep up with her.

"You think they can look like anyone in our group?" Shannon asked him.

Anders shook his head. "No. They're out to annihilate all the humans. If we had Cylons with us, they'd kill us."

That made sense. Shannon nodded, glancing back over her shoulder. "So who's our new friend?" she asked, watching some of the others help the priest.

"Him? Says his name is Brother Cavil."

"A priest. Does this mean the gods are finally on our side?"

Anders's laugh was as bitter as she felt. "If it makes you feel better, you could always look at it like that."

"Not really," Shannon said. "Need anything else?"

"Nope. We'll see you back there."

Shannon nodded and headed over to the truck and climbed in. The kids were sitting together, talking. Lauren, Anthony, and Sean were recounting the battle. Shannon listened to them for a moment, how they painted pictures of violence with words. Back on Lima, she would have been appalled that the kids were talking so happily about splattering guts and how glad they were to kill something. Right now, she only nodded approval. "You guys did good," she said.

It took half the trip back to the base for her to really notice that Blaine was sitting huddled in a corner, looking miserable, his gun still clenched in his hand. She scooted over, checking to make sure the others were still occupied. "What's going on, Anderson?" she asked, lowering her voice. "You okay?"

"I'm not wounded."

"Didn't think you were- you're not bleeding all over the floor. So what's going on?"

Blaine looked past her at the others, still talking and laughing. Shannon glanced over her shoulder. "What about them?"

"How do they do it?" Blaine asked. "How do they just _do_ it? I was standing right there with them, and when they started shooting at us, I couldn't move. I couldn't… I just stood there with my gun on my shoulder."

"Least you stood there," Shannon said. "That's something."

"Which makes me feel so much braver," Blaine said with a bitter laugh. "You know, I remember just a few years ago telling Kurt to have courage. Why don't I have any now?"

Shannon snorted. "Because courage isn't about not being afraid," she said. "Let me tell you something, Blaine. We're all afraid. And we should be. Courage is about being afraid, and then going ahead and doing what you need to do anyway. And you've got that, kid." She clapped her hand on his forearm, leaning in. "If you're trembling in your shoes and you go ahead and fight them anyway, that makes you one of the bravest men I've ever know."

She wondered how much more she should say. This was one of those moments where she should probably yell at him to pull himself up by the bootstraps and soldier on. But to the kid's credit, he _was_ doing that. He was just scared shitless as he did, and Shannon couldn't blame him.

She turned back to look at the others. Lauren, Anthony, and Sean were still laughing, blowing off steam. Shannon scooted back over and joined them, listening to accounts of exploding Centurions and speculation on the human-looking toasters. And after a while, Blaine scooted closer to her. He wasn't joining in, he wasn't adding his own stories, but he was listening.

Shannon considered that progress.

***

The first time, when they'd discovered the humanoid Cylons, Blaine had been too scared to shoot. He'd stood there frozen, his gun on his shoulder, watching the violence around him.

The second time, when their squad was ordered along on a raid of a small medical outpost and they encountered a squadron of Centurions, Blaine managed to shoot. He was positive he didn't hit a damn thing, but that terrible, paralyzing fear was diminishing.

By the sixth time, he could move. He could run, he could duck, he could shout to the others. He could fire, he could throw when they had explosives, and he now knew he'd gotten some of them. Probably. The human ones were easier to kill than the Centurions were. At least, they went down easier when they were hit by a bullet. It made Blaine sick to see them on the ground, corpses that he couldn't quite believe were broken machines.

It got easier to fight, but the sick feeling in his gut never really left. He was learning to cope with the grief that he felt every time he thought of everyone on Gemenon. His parents, his friends, the Warblers, New Directions, _Kurt_…. Thinking of Kurt hurt more than Blaine ever thought it would,. As much as Blaine wished it was true, Kurt wasn't somewhere on Gemenon, holed up and fighting Cylons, taking radiation shots each day. But maybe that was a good thing. Kurt didn't have nightmares about mass graves. Kurt didn't know what human flesh smelled like when it decayed or burned. Kurt didn't know what it felt like to crouch under bushes, a gun in hand, waiting for that right moment to shoot at robots that were eight feet tall and armed. Kurt didn't know what it felt like to _kill_. And Blaine was _glad_ that Kurt had been spared all that.

The Resistance couldn't go down into the city of Delphi. It was crawling with Cylons, both the mechanical ones and the human ones, and the Resistance wasn't that good yet that they could take on that many. But they could get supplies from lone houses, small towns, and little pockets of civilization nearby. Some of the houses were empty, but more often than not the former occupants were still there. It was awful to see the dead bodies, constantly driving home what they knew. Blaine thought he could handle it. But the worst was when they saw dead children. Little kids, five and six and younger, lying cold and decaying on the ground. It hit him every time he saw them, stirring not only grief but anger. As many times as he saw it, it didn't get any easier. He didn't understand any of this.

Belief in the Gods had always come easily for Blaine. He'd been raised on Sagittaron, and his parents had left for political reasons, not religious ones. They'd fled to Gemenon because the Gemenese mirrored their personal belief system more closely than anyplace else in the Twelve Colonies. The Gods had been in Blaine's life since he was a baby, present at every ceremony and every rite of passage. He'd thought nothing would ever be able to shake his belief in the Gods, that they would always be a part of his life. Then he saw the nuclear wasteland that was Caprica, and it was like there was a hole inside him where that belief had always been. A dark, gaping hole that was bleeding his soul, slowly but surely.

They were coming back from a mission when Blaine overheard Brother Cavil telling Anders that any time he wanted to make his confession, Cavil was ready to listen. The words hit Blaine with the force of a maglev train. _Confession._ Something he'd done every week since he was six, although he didn't always think so deeply about it. But now, something pulled him to the concept of confession and to Cavil like a moth to a flame.

He found the priest in the courtyard that night, sitting on an overturned bucket and staring up at the sky. Blaine approached him, and Cavil noticed, raising his thick gray eyebrows in inquiry.

"I heard what you said to Anders," Blaine said hesitantly. "About confession."

"You do know you can't confess for him, right? This is something he has to man up and do himself?" Brother Cavil's brows furrowed down.

Blaine's face was hot. "I know. That's not… never mind."

Cavil sighed. "Frak. No, I get it. It's been a long day, kid. I got your meaning wrong." He turned another bucket over and set it beside him. "Want to sit?"

Blaine nodded. "If this is a bad time, I can come back another day."

"You want to take that gamble that you're going to have another day to come back?"

Right. Blaine sat down. It was weird to be beside the priest like this for a confession. "Er…"

"We can skip the 'Bless me, Brother, for I have acted against the example of the Gods...' part if you want," Cavil suggested. "Let's just cut to the chase, shall we? What's on your mind?"

"I don't even know how to say it," Blaine laughed awkwardly, running his fingers through his curls. "It sounds so stupid when I say it out loud."

"So does everything. Come on, son. To use a rather crude phrase, shit or get off the pot here."

"It's the Gods," Blaine said in a rush. "Before I say it, you have to understand. I'm Sagittaron. I was born there, and even though my parents didn't share a lot of their beliefs, we've always been religious. That's why we moved to Gemenon and not Caprica or Scorpia or something."

"Okay, so you believe in the Gods." Cavil nodded. "I'd kind of figured that out given that confession is important to you, but go on."

"But that's just it," Blaine said. "I'm not sure if I _do_ anymore. And I know that sounds silly, but I think that's why I'm so afraid. I can handle pain. I can handle dying. But what if the Gods don't exist, and there's nothing after this? What if everything I know is wrong? And when I look around, all I can think is what kind of Gods allow this? If the Gods are so powerful, why did they let the Cylons destroy us all?"

Cavil's face was hard to read. "I see."

"And I already thought of the idea that maybe the Gods are on their side." The words tumbled out of him, forcing a shiver and a wave of nausea. "But that can't be right. I mean, I know people do terrible things. I can see how the Gods would think that some of us deserved to die, maybe. But what about the kids? What about the people that don't hurt others? There are some out there. Even if you accept that the Cylons are what the Gods want life to be, it's still hard to believe that every human is without redemption. And what about the squirrels?"

Cavil drew back. "The squirrels?"

"The squirrels!" Blaine said. "Look around the forests. There are no squirrels, or deer, or chipmunks, or birds, or cows, or… or anything! So much of the animal life has been wiped out." Cavil's face cleared in understanding, and Blaine relaxed a little. "If the Gods hate their creation that much, why not just… send a flood again or something? Something that would wipe the slate cleaner than nuclear bombs? Why leave such destruction in the wake? And then the only answer I can come up with is there are no Gods."

"Well," Cavil said, when it became obvious Blaine was done talking, "that's because you're assuming the Gods had any hand in this at all. They didn't. That's not how they set things up."

"But-"

"Let me let you in on a little secret, kid," Cavil said, leaning closer. "People suck. Humans suck. They kill, they steal, they cheat, they lie… they run the whole gamut, don't they? And like the Gods made humans, Cylons are made in the image of you guys. So Cylons aren't going to be immune to human foibles. And the Gods know that. The Gods _allow_ that, because that's what free will _is_. It's the ability to suck."

"Thanks," Blaine said dully. "That helped a lot."

"I'm not finished," Cavil said. "Humans are weak, pathetic, cowardly, lowly creatures. But when humans are good or strong or noble, that's not when we ask 'how could the Gods let this happen?'. And the Cylons are the children of humanity. They take after their parents, so to speak. We all do horrible things to each other, and the Gods allow it because they have to. Because it's part of free will. It's the greatest gifts the Gods gave humanity."

"So, that's your advice?" Blaine asked. "'People suck and we're all gonna die'?"

"Well, forgive me for having my own crisis of faith at the end of the world, but yeah. That's my advice. The Gods aren't here to help us or hurt us- we do that to each other."

"Thanks," Blaine said with a sigh. He wasn't sure if it helped or if it didn't, but it was another perspective.

Cavil smiled grimly, then stood to head inside. "Don't stay out all night," he told Blaine. "You need to get some sleep."

"I know." Blaine watched him leave. He turned his face back up to the sky. It was hard to see the stars. Smoke from nuclear detonations still clouded the sky, leaving it a strange golden-gray during the day and an empty black canvas at night. He wished he could see beyond those clouds, beyond this plane and see if the Gods really _were_ there. He wished he could feel them, like he used to when he was younger and he prayed.

Blaine had told Kurt that once, but Kurt had snorted and said that it was just Blaine wanting to believe so badly that he convinced himself the Gods were listening. The funny thing was that thinking of Kurt was the only time Blaine could believe in the Gods right now. It was only when he thought of Kurt being with the Gods in Elysium that he felt any peace at all, secure in the knowledge that _that_, if nothing else, was true.

_The Gods aren't here to help us or hurt us- we do that to each other._ Blaine sighed, knocking his head back against the wall. He sat on late into the night, staring up at the clouds and wishing that he could make sense of anything at all.

***

They'd been lucky, Shannon knew that. After a few tentative starts, Anders now had the raids down to something of a science. He was very fond of explosives- anything that could cause maximum damage to the Cylons and minimum damage to the humans. As a result of Anders' tactics, very few humans had died. Of _course_ their luck couldn't last.

They heard the explosions from the camp. They were very faint and far off in the distance. She was sitting with Lauren, cleaning a pile of guns when they heard them.

"This wasn't a combat mission," Shannon said, frowning. "There shouldn't have been explosions."

"They'll let us know soon enough," Lauren said, still cleaning her gun. She didn't seem overly concerned, but at the same time, she was right. They weren't the ones calling the shots right now.

She'd cleaned four guns when a truck rumbled through the gate and Anders hopped out. "Get help!" His voice was rough, and when Shannon saw him he was covered with scratches, soot, and blood. "We've got four people down in here! Hurry!"

"What happened?" Shannon asked, catching Anders by the arm.

"Ambush," Anders said, his eyes scanning the school building like he expected Cylons to pop out of the windows at any moment. "It was an ambush."

"Frak." Shannon looked at the gate. "Where are the other trucks? Do they need help?"

Anders shook his head. "The other trucks aren't coming," he said.

"They're gone?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he broke free from her grip and headed back to the truck, calling for medical supplies. But that was answer enough.

Three trucks gone. If she guessed right, that could mean up to thirty people dead. The number was staggering in her head, and instinctively, Shannon looked back over her shoulder to check for her guys. Lauren was still by the guns, lingering uncertainly, and Anthony and Sean were lurking in a doorway. She'd seen Blaine in the kitchen before she came out here. They were all here. They were all safe. She breathed out slowly.

Anders called to her, and she pushed her worries aside and went over to help bring in the wounded. "What about the bodies?" Shannon asked.

Anders didn't answer. At first, she wasn't sure he heard her. But Jean Barolay touched her arm and shook her head. When Anders was out of earshot, she said, "We left them out there. I know it's terrible," she said, correctly interpreting the shocked expression on Shannon's face. "But if we bring them here, they'll either decay or we'll have to burn them, and the smoke would tell the Cylons where we are."

She was right. "How's he taking it?" Shannon asked, jerking her chin in Anders' direction.

"How do you think?" Jean asked. Concern was written all over her face as she watched him. Shannon clasped her shoulder for a long moment, because yeah, it sucked when your best friend had the weight of the world on his shoulders and you couldn't do a damn thing to help. She'd been there. She knew that.

"I'll go start organizing the supplies," Shannon said. "If you guys need help with figuring out who's gone, let me know." Jean nodded, her eyes still on Anders, and Shannon headed off.

"What's going on, Coach?" Lauren asked when Shannon got close enough into earshot.

"Come on," Shannon said, beckoning with her head. "We've got work to do. I'll fill you in as we do it."

***

"What happened?" Blaine asked Lauren when he sat down across from her that night at dinner. "I've been in the kitchen and I keep hearing… something, but no one will tell me anything. I don't know why they won't."

"They think you can't handle it." Lauren was too tired to be tactful.

Blaine took offense. She could see it in the way he drew himself up and the scowl on his face. "What happened out there?"

"You really want to know?"

"No. I'm asking because I want you to lie to me."

He meant it. Lauren sighed. "There was an ambush," she said. "They got thirty-eight people."

"Thirty-eight." Blaine shook his head. "Wow."

"Wow? That's what you've got to say? Wow?"

"Well, I figured out people were dead," Blaine said. "I'm not stupid, you know."

"True. No one ever said you were." Lauren pushed her food around on her plate. "Everyone's just scared that if you hear, and if you know, you're going to go off and cry again."

Blaine blinked at her. "Of course I'm going to cry," he said.

"You're not now."

"Because I did when I heard that people died. I knew it was a lot- I just didn't know the number or the how. Thirty-eight people are dead, and they're people we knew. You don't think that's worth crying over?"

"Nope," Lauren said. "It's just going to be us soon enough."

She meant it. There was no point in crying for the people who'd died today. Their work was _done_. They were at rest, and their time was over. If anything, it felt like the Gods had let them out of some sort of Purgatory, and they got to go on. There were fifty-three of them left now. Fifty-three was such a small number in the billions that had died. Frankly, Lauren was sure that the Gods had pretty much forgotten about them.

But at the same time, a little voice inside her head told her that Noah would have cried. Alone, maybe, and he would have pretended he wasn't. But he would have cried. Blaine said he'd cried. And she'd seen Beiste crying as they put away the supplies. Maybe there was something wrong with _her_ that she couldn't force a single tear over this.

Blaine was watching her. He looked cautious, like he was afraid she was going to explode. Frak that. Lauren wasn't the one breaking down over their situation- he was. She picked her plate up. "I'm going to go find Anthony and Sean," she said. "See you later."

"See you later." Blaine watched her go. Lauren thought there might have been pity on his face, and then decided there couldn't be, or she'd have to go back and set him straight and she really wasn't in the mood to do that right now. Thirty-eight dead people were enough; no need to make it thirty-nine.

***

Blaine watched Lauren go, the familiar choking feeling seizing his throat. She only had said what everyone had thought- what _he_ thought. That he was Sagittaron, through and through. That he was a coward. That he was too soft. That he couldn't handle this life and this battle. That was why no one was telling him details. That was why he was sitting alone. So it was a shock when, five minutes later, Anders sat down across from him.

"Hey. I hear that you sing?"

"Where did you hear that from?" Blaine asked.

"Your coach. Is it true?"

"Yeah," Blaine said, surprised. "I haven't much these days because I haven't felt much like singing, but before this…."

"Yeah, point taken. I'm guessing you don't feel like it much now, either, but we've just…. We've been trying to figure out the funeral, you know? Thirty-eight people. It's a big deal." Anders looked drawn and worn and uncertain. "There needs to be something more than just talking. I don't suppose you know a funeral song or anything, do you?"

Blaine frowned and looked down at his soup. "There's a song from Sagittaron, one I learned back when I was a kid. 'Run to the Water.' It… fits."

Anders nodded. "You think you could sing it? Even teach it to a few other people? I know it's not much time, but I think it would make a difference."

"I could try. Who all do I have to teach?"

"Me and Brother Cavil. That should be enough." Anders gestured over his shoulder, and Blaine spotted Cavil standing by the cafeteria door, watching them. He pushed his soup away and stood.

"This is a high school," Blaine said when they were almost to the door. "It's got to have a music room somewhere."

"Well, then, let's go check it out," Cavil suggested.

The music room was a little disheveled, just like the rest of the school, but as soon as Blaine stepped over the threshold, something clicked inside. He closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, because he knew this feeling. This was _home._

The upright piano was covered in dust. Blaine ran his hand over it reverently, and then sat down and opened the cover. He played a few notes, cringing at how out of tune it was. For the first time since Coach Beiste had herded them into that fallout shelter, Blaine felt like things were right.

Cavil and Anders were prowling around the room, opening cabinets and looking in corners. "Hey," Anders said, pulling a guitar out of a cabinet. "Check it out! A guitar!"

"Fantastic. Do you play?" Blaine asked.

Sam shook his head. "Nah. Never learned."

"That's too bad. It's a noble instrument, very much maligned." Cavil smirked.

"Do _you_ play?" Blaine asked, surprised.

"I do," Cavil said, taking the guitar. His smirk deepened. "My father taught me." He strummed a few notes. "All right, son. Teach me this song of yours. We'll see what we can do with it."

***

The fifty-three remaining members of the Resistance stood in the courtyard with heads bowed in front of a makeshift stage. Blaine swallowed hard, stretching his neck from side to side and trying to get loose without being obvious about what he was doing. It didn't seem appropriate, somehow, even though he could argue that the thirty-eight people killed deserved the best performance he could give as a tribute.

Brother Cavil was speaking. Blaine listened to him, but the words just wouldn't permeate his ears. Nothing stuck, nothing made sense. He told himself it was because he was nervous, but that wasn't the truth, and he knew it.

Anders stood beside him, listening intently. His face looked wrecked, and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists. It was like he took it all personally, like it was a failure on his part that he couldn't personally keep these people safe.

Brother Cavil was winding up. Blaine jerked his attention back to him, waiting for his cue. Finally, Cavil sat down on the chair and picked up the guitar. Blaine stepped out onto the stage and nodded to Cavil. Cavil played the opening chords of "Run to the Water", and Blaine took a deep breath. In his mind, he could see the Warblers. In his mind, he could see New Directions. In his mind, he could see _Kurt._

""_Oh desert speak to my heart, oh woman of the earth,  
Maker of children who weep for love, maker of this birth  
'Til your deepest secrets are known to me, I will not be moved._

It was a song he knew from Sagittaron, from the oppression and the poverty and the Colonial troops marching through the square in his hometown. As he sang the first verse, he remembered hiding under the bed as they marched by, even though his mother had told him he was safe. And in his mind, the Colonial feet moving in unison became Cylons, lurching together in some sort of stilted rhythm.

_"Don't try to find the answer when there ain't no question here  
Brother let your heart be wounded and give no mercy to your fear"_

He glanced over his shoulder at Brother Cavil. It was an automatic thing, because Cavil had the guitar and there were considerations of tempo and phrasing, all which needed to be communicated with a look and a nod. But the expression on Cavil's face- the intense focus and the gimlet eyes- made Blaine even more aware of the words he was singing. No answers were coming. No divine explanation, no cosmic intervention.

The song built to a hard crescendo, and he looked back at the people massed in front of him, some with heads bowed in grief, but many facing them. Defiance, anger, resolution… he could see it on their faces as he built up to the chorus.

"_Run to the water and find me there- burnt to the core but not broken._

There was a ripple in the audience at those words, and a ripple down Blaine's soul. _Burnt to the core, but not broken._ He'd sang the words so many times in teaching Anders and Cavil the song, but now, in the irradiated air and with the cloudy sky above him, the words hit hard enough that his voice faltered. Anders saw it and stepped up beside Blaine, giving him a grim smile and joining in for the last few lines of the refrain. Their eyes met, and Blaine felt himself growing a little stronger as the music played before the second verse.

He looked out over the group again, and he found Coach Beiste and the wrestlers. Anthony and Sean had their heads bowed, but Coach Beiste and Lauren were both standing tall, their faces defiant. Proud. He clung to them with his gaze, pushing away all of the past and seeing them here in context, as warriors against a force that had destroyed their civilization. The words for the next verse flowed out of him, roughened with emotion but inevitable, like a river breaking free of its dam.

"_And I will never leave you until we can say,  
This world was just a dream we were sleeping now we are awake  
In a moment we lost our minds here and dreamt the world was round  
A million mile fall from grace thank god we missed the ground"_

He closed his eyes. In his head, he heard the drums that should have gone with that build to the chorus, and behind his eyelids he saw light. Not the watery, contaminated sunlight of Caprica or the dusty oppressed sunlight of Sagittaron, but the clear, bright sunlight of Gemenon, from a summer day when he'd walked barefoot in the grass, laughing with Kurt. The sunlight from Elysium, from paradise, from heaven. And when he sang the words of the refrain again, Anders' voice backing him up and Cavil's guitar grounding them both, the bands of fear around his soul began to crack. He stretched his arms out as he sang, opening himself up and letting that sunlight in his mind fill him.

"_Run to the water and find me there, burnt to the core but not broken  
We'll cut through the madness of these streets below the moon  
With a nuclear fire of love in our hearts  
Rest easy baby, rest easy and recognize it all as light and rainbows  
Smashed to smithereens and be happy"_

The bands broke completely, and when he opened his eyes to see the faces tilted up to him, he _knew._ There was a purpose here for him. The Gods hadn't forgotten them, and when their work was done, they could go home. He'd be with his parents, with his friends, with _Kurt_, and he would be whole. They all would be.

As the music died away and he looked at the faces and the sky and the grimness of Caprica, at Sam Anders and Coach Beiste and Brother Cavil, Blaine knew he finally wasn't afraid anymore.

A mortar exploded, and Lauren ducked behind what was left of a wall. She glanced over and caught Anthony's eye. _I'll cover you._ Anthony nodded, scooped up the ball of explosives, took a deep breath and ran out towards the Centurions. Lauren leaned back around and fired, and Anthony tossed the explosives and then dove behind a wall across the way. The ball rolled towards the Centurions' feet and exploded.

She had to duck behind the wall again and cover her head and ears as debris rained down on them, but when she came back up, there was silence. At least, there was no gunfire.

"All right, guys!" Anders shouted, coming out from his position. "Good job." He high fived Anthony as he jogged by. "Now let's get these weapons and get out of here!"

"Awesome cover, Zizes," Anthony said as he fell into step beside her.

"Thanks. You didn't do so bad yourself."

He grinned. He was a hottie, Lauren had to admit that. Once, it totally would have done something for her. Now all she could think was that he'd be dead in three or four months anyway, just like her. Or a year. Or something- she really had never expected that it would last this long.

The armory they'd raided was pretty well stocked. Lots of guns, ammo, explosives, plastics, and grenades. Lauren picked up an X16-027, testing the balance and the weight. And to think, three months ago she wouldn't have even known what an X16-027 _was._ They worked all morning, filling the three trucks and clearing out as much as they could. Anders looked satisfied when they were done. "Take 'em on back," he ordered. "I'm going to take the third truck and swing by Montgomeryville."

"What are we doing out there?" Sue-Shaun asked.

"There's a grocery store we haven't hit. We need to pick up something for dinner."

They all laughed, because it was a joke and yeah, it was kind of funny. But Lauren felt like she was laughing on autopilot. When they climbed into the back of the truck, Lauren tipped her head back against the wall, closing her eyes.

"You okay?" Anthony asked her.

"Fine," she said, because she was. She was exhausted, she was drained, and as they began the slow trip back, bouncing over ruined roads and dirt trails, she wasn't thinking about her parents, or her friends, or Noah. Funny how she called him Noah a lot more now than she ever had to his face. She drifted off to sleep, although it was hard to tell with the nightmares that kept flitting through her mind.

The truck lurched to a stop. She jerked out of a dream where a Cylon had its hands around her throat. This one was different than the one they'd seen at the grave. They'd discovered that there were at least four more models- a tall, thin, blonde woman, an elegant woman with slightly darker blonde hair, a smaller, dark woman with almond shaped eyes, and a blond man with a lean build and a maniacal gleam to his eye. The model in her dream had been the tall, thin blonde woman. She blinked, clearing her vision and she saw only humans in front of her, sitting in the back of the truck.

"You okay?" Anthony asked again.

"Frak off," Lauren told him. She jumped down out of the truck and started gathering weapons. "Let's get these in."

They were on their second load when Blaine and Sean came out to help them. Blaine looked different the past week since the funeral- his easy smile was back on occasion, and he moved with more ease. Once, Lauren would have been glad to see it. Now, all she could think was that maybe he'd be more useful out in the field.

It took seven trips to unload the truck. They were just going out to get the last one when the final truck came through the gates. "Hope they got food," Blaine said. "We're getting really low in the kitchen."

Lauren was about to say something when the passengers climbed out. There were the C-Bucs and Anders, but there were also two other people that Lauren was positive she had never seen before. The one was a man wearing what looked like a leather suit. He was tall, with broad shoulders and chiseled cheekbones and a pale, haunted look about him. The other was a blonde woman who looked about ten years older than them, if that. Both of them were armed. The man looked impressed by the camp; the woman didn't.

"Hey!" Anders yelled, raising his arm up. "Let's get these weapons unloaded! Let's go!"

"Who are they?" Lauren asked, indicating the strangers.

"They look military," Blaine said.

"No, they can't be. Cylons keep hitting the military bases," Sean argued.

"I lived on Sagittaron under a military occupation for ten years," Blaine shot back. "Trust me. They're military." The two of them were deep in conversation with Anders now.

"Probably been on the run," Anthony said with a shrug as they went to help unload the truck. "They could have found meds and food, just like the Resistance did."

"Gods," Blaine said, still watching them. "Can you imagine what it must have been like to be alone for the past few months? With nobody else?"

Lauren looked at Anthony, who shrugged, and Sean, who rolled his eyes. Blaine didn't notice. He was watching the newcomers, admiration clear on his face. Lauren just wondered how the hell Anders knew for sure these weren't Cylons.

Her questions got answered at dinner. The remaining members of the Resistance were gathered in the cafeteria when Anders came in, the two newcomers at his side. "Settle down," he shouted, climbing up on a chair. "As you can all see, we've got some new faces. Trust me, me and the C-Bucs checked them out, and they are not Cylons. Cylons might be cruel, but they don't remind you about called-back foul breaks in a Pyramid game." Anders grinned, and a little bit of tense laughter rippled through the crowd.

"This is Karl Agathon and Kara Thrace. They've been on the run from the Cylons almost as long as we have. And I'm sure that you all see these fancy Colonial Fleet uniforms they're wearing. Well, these guys are the real deal. So, as long as they stay with us, they've offered to help us out with our tactics."

A buzz of conversation greeted his words, and Anders jumped down and clapped Agathon on the back with a grin. Lauren looked back at the rest of her table. "What does he mean, as long as they stay with us?" she asked. "Where else would they go?"

"I'm pretty sure that's a polite way to say if they don't croak," Sean said, and the other two nodded. Of course. It was stupid that she hadn't thought of that herself. Lauren pushed her glasses back up her nose and sighed. She couldn't afford to get her head muddled by anything like this right now. She took one last look at Agathon and Thrace, told herself it wouldn't be enough to save any of them, and turned back to her dinner without another thought.

***

"Shannon. Can I talk to you?"

Shannon looked up to see Anders standing over her. "Sure, boss," she said. "What's up?"

"I need you in a strategy meeting. With Thrace and Agathon and a few others."

Mystified, Shannon stood up and followed him. This was either really, really good, or really, really bad.

Thrace had a map spread out on a table, and she and Agathon were studying it when they walked in. The C-Bucs were there as well, and a few others. All older. All capable of keeping their mouths shut.

"Our objective," Thrace said, "is this emergency airstrip up at Gup's Point."

"What about something closer to home?" Anders asked.

Thrace looked at Agathon. "Might not be a bad thought," he said. "You said the Cylon jump drive had a greater range than ours do."

"Yeah, that's a good point." Thrace began shifting maps.

"Excuse me," Shannon spoke up, "but what exactly are we doing? Because this doesn't sound like we're just shoving explosives up the Cylons' asses."

Anders nodded. "It is more than that. We're trying to steal a ship."

"A ship. _Why_? Where are we flying?" Shannon looked from Anders to Agathon to Thrace. "What's going on?"

"This is confidential," Anders told her. "Not one word."

"Of course."

Anders took a deep breath. "Thrace here," he said, "wasn't on Caprica when the Cylons attacked. She hasn't been on Caprica this entire time."

"So… she's from Gemenon?" Shannon asked, not comprehending.

"No. There's a Fleet. A Fleet of ships that escaped the Cylon attack, with over forty thousand people." Shannon's mouth hung open as she stared at Anders. "I know, right?" he said. "It's a lot to believe. I'm not sure I believe it myself. But Kara thinks she can get back to them, and if she can, she can mount a rescue mission to get the rest of us off Caprica and up there."

"You're kidding." Shannon wished she could get her mouth to close properly. "You're frakking kidding me."

"Trust me, I'm not kidding," Thrace said. "And I'm getting back there."

"You can see why we don't want word about it spreading around," Anders said.

"Why not?" Shannon asked. "Would sure raise morale around here."

"For a while. And when they don't come back for us, it would plummet. We've already got Armageddon- we don't need a second blow to go along with it."

Thrace didn't look like she liked that assessment. Wounded pride- Shannon had seen that look enough to recognize it easily on any face. But Anders had a point. Too much could go wrong, and if her guys knew that that Fleet was there and it didn't come back for them…. "Yeah," she said out loud. "I see your point. Okay, so we keep our mouths shut. So why not get a couple of raiders to get everyone back there?"

"We can't all fit on two raiders," Thrace explained. "Heavy raiders carry about eight Cylons at the most. I'm not sure what the weight limits are, but two of them will only get sixteen of us there, and even if we double that, that's only thirty- two."

"We're not leaving anyone behind," Jean added in. "And deciding who would get to go… it could be a disaster."

"I've gotten to know this group pretty well," Anders continued, "and there aren't any pilots. There's one woman who took some lessons on some small planes, but I don't think she'd be able to look at a spacecraft she's never seen and be able to pilot it in seconds."

"Got it," Shannon said. "So we get you two," she pointed at Thrace and Agathon, "back to this Fleet, and then we hold until you come for us?"

"That's the plan," Agathon said.

"Well, I say let's get our Prince Charmings here a white horse and get ready to be rescued," Shannon said. It was a long shot, but it was also a tiny light at the end of a very long tunnel. She pulled the map towards her. "Let's plan this."

***

When she got back to the classroom where she and her guys slept, they weren't asleep. They were all sitting on the floor, playing Triad and drinking a bottle of rum. If the wrestling competition had gone as it should have, she'd have their asses for the drinking part, but as it stood, she didn't say a word. They'd all figured out their tolerances by now.

"Come join us, Coach," Sean called when she walked in. "We'll deal you in next hand."

"All right." She sat down on the floor with them. After all, it wasn't like she was their teacher anymore. And they weren't children.

The thought hit her harder and harder as the kids played and talked. Four months ago, these kids were talking about the wrestling competitions, glee clubs, boyfriends and girlfriends, and what they were going to do with their lives. They were listening to music and going to dances and squabbling about stupid shit and worried about their popularity. Now, they were comparing the best method to take down a Centurion and swapping war stories- literal war stories. They'd been shot at, they'd shot- hell, they'd killed those people-like toasters. They'd seen people killed and they'd killed, and they were a handful of people left alive in existence.

That last thought made her want to tell them about the Fleet. These were kids- they deserved hope. But she kept her mouth shut and played the game, even as she wondered why these kids had to be stuck here, instead of on that Fleet somewhere in the stars.

The next day, when they tried to take a ship and Kara Thrace was captured, Shannon was insanely grateful that she'd never said anything about the Fleet. Because without Thrace they weren't getting there, and ruined hope was worse than no hope at all.

***

_She's not dead_, Anders insisted, and his evidence was the most disturbing thing Shannon had ever seen. A humanoid Cylon, standing right there in their camp, a bandage on her shoulder and a determined look on her face.

_We can trust her_, Agathon said, but Shannon didn't. She'd seen those women marching down the streets, she'd seen them firing at her kids, she'd seen them with guns and bombs and ready to kill. This one wasn't any different- she'd helped kill off billions and billions of people. But Anders and Agathon believed her, so Shannon kept her mouth shut. She was getting awfully good at that.

At least this time, they were right. Sharon helped them rescue Kara from where the Cylons were holding her, and got her, Helo, and herself into the air in a Cylon heavy raider. She might not be completely trustworthy- Shannon wondered if she'd really take them to that Fleet across space- but she at least came through on that much.

Kara Thrace escaped Caprica, and it was reasonable to assume she made it back to her Fleet. But the days ticked by with no signs of rescue, with only death and blood and explosions, and Shannon wished Anders had never told her where Kara was going.

***

"_Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly…_" Blaine put the pot aside and reached for the next one. Singing those words hurt, but the menial task of doing dishes soothed him enough to face it. He sang the song the whole way through, Kurt's face in front of him the entire time. Even after six months, Kurt's face was as vivid as ever in Blaine's mind.

"That's pretty," Anders said from the door.

Blaine turned around. "I didn't know anyone else was in the kitchen."

"Yeah, well." Anders looked at the pile of dishes. "You need some help?"

Blaine shrugged. "I've got it under control. But if you're just looking for something to do…."

Anders picked up a towel. "How about I dry?"

"Sounds good."

"I don't suppose you'd teach me that song you were singing," Anders asked as they turned to the pile of dishes.

Blaine grinned and sang it through again for him. After the first time, Anders started joining in. His voice was nice. It wasn't trained at all, and his breath control and his phrasing weren't all that great, but he had a nice rough tone that Blaine really liked. By the time the dishes were done, Anders had the song down by heart.

"I take it that one's kind of special to you," Anders said as they finished.

"Why do you say that?" Blaine asked, keeping his attention focused on the sink he was now scouring.

"I can just tell. You sing with a lot of emotion. It's like hearing you sing 'Run to the Water' again. The feeling in it just knocks me over."

"Oh. Yeah." Thinking about 'Run to the Water' made him flustered, and a little proud. He scrubbed harder. "Anyway, 'Blackbird' was the song that made me realize I was in love with my boyfriend back on Gemenon." He lifted the pot to the other side of the sink and rinsed it. "Did you have someone? Before the attacks, I mean?"

"There's always someone," Anders said, laughing a little. "But not like that, no. I try not to think about the one who got away."

"Yeah. Although it's getting a little easier."

"Really?" Anders looked skeptical. "Because when I hear those songs you're singing, I'm not so sure I believe it."

"Okay, it's not," Blaine had to admit. "Not really. I just keep waiting. I feel like _he's_ waiting." He shrugged. "I still can't decide if I believe that or not, but I guess on some level I do. How much longer can it last?"

"We've still got meds for a few more months," Anders said. "After that, well, we could get up above the radiation. Hit the hills."

"That wasn't really what I meant," Blaine said with a sigh.

"I know. But it's the only answer I've got for you, kid." Anders clapped him on the shoulder. "You need any more help in here?"

"No. I'm good."

Anders must have finally cottoned on to the fact Blaine was in here alone voluntarily, because he nodded and retreated out the door. "See you later," he said, and walked away humming "Blackbird." Blaine watched him go, and then leaned forward and buried his head in his arms on the counter. Anders had a B-plan for when their anti-radiation meds ran out. That thought- that this would just go on and on and on- made him give in and start crying.

***

When the Resistance had rescued Kara Thrace, they'd rescued her from some weird farm thing, where Cylons were trying to use humans as breeding stock for making babies. Anders had told them about it right after, determined to blow every last farm on Caprica to smithereens. In theory, Lauren had fully agreed with him. Reality, however, was a different story. Blowing up farms meant _finding_ farms, which meant traveling too far away from Delphi Union to be practical. At least with the whole group.

"You know what we could do," Jean said glumly, tossing a Pyramid ball to Lauren. "We could just wait. We're down to fifty-three right now. At some point, we're going to be down to a good number to travel with. When that happens, we just leave the camp and go blow shit up."

"I could be down with that," Lauren agreed, tossing the Pyramid ball back. She knew better than to play Jean- Jean would kick her ass in a way Lauren didn't appreciate- but a friendly game of catch killed time. "How would we find them?"

"Does it really matter?" Jean asked. "We just keep blowing shit up. As long as we're blowing up toasters, what's the problem?"

"Good point. Can't argue with that."

"So. Are you getting it on with Anthony?" Jean asked her.

Lauren snorted. "No. Are you with Anders?"

"Water way under the bridge. Besides, he's still hung up on that Kara." Jean considered her ball. "Anthony's getting into you, though."

"Yeah. Because I'm pretty literally the last woman in the world. Or close to it." Lauren was skeptical. "Not that he wouldn't be lucky to get his hands on this. But it loses appeal when everyone else is dead."

Jean disagreed. "End of the world apocalypse sex is really pretty hot. Kind of crazy, and you can do all sorts of shit you wouldn't usually do."

"But every time we think it's the end, we wake up the next morning. I'd still have to deal with him. And I don't need some puppy dog school boy crush following me around, unless he's toting the gun to back me up."

"He is. You guys work well together." Jean cocked her head. "Was there someone back on Gemenon?"

"There was, but that's not the issue," Lauren said, firmly telling herself that she wasn't lying at all. "It's all about the here and now."

"Which is why you should totally do it." Jean looked at the sky. "Come on. It's getting late and we should get dinner before they clean up."

Lauren tossed the ball back to her, not commenting. The idea of sleeping with Anthony just did absolutely nothing for her, no matter how hot he was, but she really couldn't explain exactly why. She shrugged, falling into step beside Jean. All that mattered these days was the damage they could do before they got taken out. And Lauren was determined to be around when it came time to travel around and blow shit up. It sounded like there was finally something worth living for.

***

"Ten miles to go," the driver called from the front of the truck. "Almost there." The truck thudded over another pothole. Blaine leaned over and steadied the crate in front of him. The crate had glass bottles of pickled vegetables in it, and the last thing they needed was for them to shatter. It was a small group this time- just six of them. The houses they'd hit had been in an area that the Cylons weren't paying much attention to. On the surface, it was an easy job- go in, bring back anything that could be useful. Food, clothing, medicines, weapons, batteries- _anything_. Blaine had even grabbed a few board games for something new to do. But there were still bodies of the families in there. It was bad enough seeing those decaying corpses each time, but the worst part was when Sean looked at one, shrugged, and said, "Same old, same old," before he got on with his work. Blaine was not only horrified that things had gotten to the point that anyone would feel that way, but horrified to find there was a part of him that agreed with Sean.

He was thinking about that when the explosion hit, and the truck flew up into the air.

He closed his eyes and threw his arms up over his face out of sheer instinct, and then found himself falling as the truck landed on its side. The box of bottles he'd been steadying crashed before he did, the glass shattering into tiny crystal shards that cut into his skin. He fell against the far side of the truck, the impact winding him. Outside the truck, he could hear the sound of Centurions firing.

"Get out!" someone shouted. "Get out of the truck before it blows!"

He remembered grabbing his gun and jumping out of the truck. He remembered ducking behind a tree and firing. He remembered Sean running and trying to cover him, and then Sean being hit, his back arching before he fell to the ground. He remembered darting out, ready to run to pull Sean back, to get him behind some sort of cover. He remembered the sound of a huge explosion, shaking the ground and hitting his left ear with a huge force. And then he remembered nothing more.

***

When he woke up, it was silent. His vision was blurry, and the smell of dirt, blood, and fire was strong. Blaine lay still for a long moment, taking inventory. Everything hurt, but he could also move everything. He groaned and rolled to sitting. No injuries that were _too_ bad- no gun shots.

The sun was low in the sky now. He rubbed his eyes and looked around the silent forest, and then immediately wished he hadn't. Ten feet away from him, Sean was lying on the ground, eyes open. That was bad enough, but just a little further away was the top half of the driver. Blaine took one look at that half-corpse and had to lean over to throw up. The bile was bitter and acidic, and the heaves hurt his ribs.

Dead. They were all dead. The Cylons had just left them all, and they must have assumed he was dead, too. Blaine was pretty sure the mechanical ones didn't know how to check for a pulse. He blinked, knowing that he should cry, but his eyes were dry and he felt nothing. Defense mechanism, some part of him said, and he didn't really care.

He looked around at his dead comrades one more time and then hauled himself to his feet. As he did, a shaft of pain shot up his leg and his knee buckled. Shit. He struggled, and then managed to catch his balance and investigate the leg. It wasn't bleeding, and he could almost put weight on it. There were small favors after all.

He tried to orient himself. Right before the explosion had hit, the truck driver said that they were ten miles from the base. Ten miles wasn't bad in itself, but right now the biggest danger was how low the sun was in the sky. It was late. The problem wasn't the darkness or the Cylons or dehydration or food. The problem was that he needed to be back in time for his radiation shot.

Over the past nine months, Blaine had gotten used to looting places with corpses. Now, as he hunted through the overturned truck for supplies, he discovered how much worse it was when he actually _knew_ the corpses. The woman who had been sitting in the passenger seat was still there, glass from the windshield embedded in her face. Blaine couldn't look. He found a few canteens of water, some food, a flashlight and batteries, and a first aid kit. No radiation meds, though. He dug through the supplies and found a bottle of painkillers. It wasn't much, but it was something. He hastily took two, and then wormed his way out of the truck.

He found a long branch to use as walking stick and a pack to put his supplies in, and threw his gun over his shoulder. On a bad leg ten miles was a long way, and he had to get started now.

***

"Any luck?" Anthony asked anxiously as Lauren hopped off the truck.

"Nothing. We didn't make it all the way to where they were going, so maybe they're further out. But we're not going to find them in the dark," Lauren said, pushing her hair back with a sigh. "It's not looking good."

"We're going to search more tomorrow, right?" Anthony peered out into the darkness in the vague direction of where the rescue party had come back from.

Lauren shrugged. "Guess so," she said. She headed towards the school.

"Lauren?" Anthony called after her. "Are you okay?"

She stopped and shrugged. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Sean and Blaine were on that truck."

"I know."

"So… are you okay?"

Lauren turned back towards the school. "I'm fine. I'm going to go get a shower."

"Lauren!" Anthony called, but she ignored him. She'd said all she needed to say on the subject, and there was no need to discuss it any further.

***

None of this looked familiar. As the sun came up, Blaine was sure of it. He'd made a wrong turn somewhere, and he had no idea where he was. His leg was throbbing and he was sweaty and dirty. His stomach was churning, too, and even though he knew on a rational level that it was pain and hunger and fear, he couldn't help wondering when the radiation poisoning would start.

He should be terrified. A few months ago, he would have been, to the point where he would have been immobilized. Blaine grit his teeth and gripped his stick harder, resolute. _Courage is about being afraid, and then going ahead and doing what you need to do anyway._ Coach Beiste's words ran like a mantra in his head, and he clung to them. He could do this. No matter what else he was feeling, he knew that. He could _do_ this.

He turned around and began limping the other way.

***

They found the truck. They'd missed it the night before because the explosion had taken it off the road. Lauren stared at it, frowning. The truck wasn't too badly damaged, aside from the windshield being blown out and the side being severely dented. She wondered if it was still driveable. It would be a shame to lose one of the trucks.

"Found another one!" she heard Coach yell. "Looks like Gravens."

The others ran over, but Lauren just circled the truck and climbed up inside. The contents of the truck were a mess. That was five bodies now, she thought as she looked at the supplies. Five out of six.

"Any sign of Anderson?" she heard Anders ask. No one answered.

A crate caught Lauren's eye, and she bent over, looking at it more closely. It was turned right-side up, and it looked like it had been opened deliberately. At closer inspection, she could see that the contents were rather orderly. She looked out of the truck.

"I think Blaine's still alive," she called out. "Or he was."

"He either escaped or they took him," Anders agreed. The same thought that occurred to Lauren occurred to him.

"Hope it's the first," Lauren said, thinking of the farms and shuddering.

"No kidding. Come on. Let's go find him."

***

The sun was high in the sky the first time Blaine vomited. It wasn't bad, he told himself. Just like being sick. Just like having a virus. He could still go on. It wasn't bad in itself, but what it meant was definitely bad. Radiation poisoning.

The road was starting to look familiar. He'd found the spot where he was pretty sure he missed a turn several hours ago, and now he was recognizing landmarks. That big rock, that house set back from the street, that broken sign. He was going the right way- all he had to do was keep going.

His leg still hurt and slowed him down considerably, but it wasn't getting worse. He tried to take heart from that, to look at the bright side of things. But as the steps wore on and he had to stop to vomit again, he couldn't help but think that he might not get back to the Resistance at all.

***

It was dark, and Jean had the high beams on. They drove slowly, just in case. "There!" Anders leaned over and pointed, causing Jean to swerve. "Did you see that? Stop the truck!" Jean put the brakes on, and Anders jumped out before she'd even come to a full stop. Lauren leaned forward and saw Anders hovering over someone.

"Open up the back!" Anders ordered, and someone obeyed. Everyone moved aside and Anders gently laid Blaine down. He looked terrible in the light of the lantern, Lauren thought, pale and clammy, his curls damp and his eyes unfocused. "Relax," Anders said, squeezing Blaine's hand. He jumped up into the truck and sat down on the floor next to him. "We're going to get you home, okay? Lauren? Tell Jean to go."

Lauren leaned forward and relayed the message, and the truck lurched back into motion. She knew she should be relieved they'd found Blaine, but as she looked at him, she was pretty sure that there wasn't much of a reason to be happy.

***

"Well," Brother Cavil said, giving the impression of throwing his hands up in the air, "the sickness should pass in a few days. But if I'm reading this right, then there comes a latent period where it all looks okay before it all goes to hell. Without treatment, he's probably got somewhere between two and six weeks."

Two to six weeks. Shannon tried to say something, thought better of it, and turned around and punched a shelf. Books fell to the floor, landing with a vaguely satisfying thud. "Two to six weeks? That's not right."

"That's what it says here," Brother Cavil said.

They were sitting in the school library, several candles and a battery-powered lantern giving some light. Blaine was in the nurse's office, sleeping. It had turned Shannon's heart over when they'd brought him back, to see how bad he looked. It was bad enough she'd lost one of her guys today, knowing that Sean died. Losing another wasn't on. "But we can do something about it, right?" she asked. "You said without treatment. What's the treatment?"

"'Antibiotics, blood products, colony stimulating factors, and stem cell transplants,'" Cavil read. "We can do antibiotics, but got me as to the rest. This is a high school library- I don't know that we'll find much else. Not to mention, even if we found guidelines for the precise treatment, I'm not sure we've got anything but the antibiotics."

"Frak," Shannon said, but it wasn't enough. "Frak! What the hell are we supposed to do? Just sit here and watch him die?"

Cavil shrugged. "Might be all we can do. Or he might not die. He might be able to recover on his own. We don't know exactly how much radiation he took in."

"That's not good enough."

"Well, you're free to make a petition to the Gods."

"Like they're listening," Shannon said with an angry snort.

"Look, I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but this is what's going to happen to all of us once those radiation meds run out if we don't find any more. It's not going to be pretty."

"Frak you," Shannon said and stormed out of the library.

He was right. She knew that. But that didn't mean she had to like it.

She went down to the nurse's office, and to her mild surprise, Lauren was sitting by Blaine's bed, watching him sleep. "How is he?" Shannon asked.

Lauren shrugged. "About the same. It's pretty miserable."

"So I hear. Cavil says it should ease up in a day or two, though. Go latent."

Lauren snorted. "Right."

Shannon pulled up a chair and sat down next to her. "You seen Anthony? Is he all right?"

"He's back in the room. I think he needed to be alone. Sean," Lauren added in explanation.

"Yeah, well, Sean. That's kind of what I was asking about. You all right?"

Lauren shrugged again. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"Because he's dead."

"I know. Look, I know it seems like I don't care. But here's how I see it: if I start caring, then I've got to care about everything else that's happened, and if I do that, I'll fall apart. And right now, there's no time to fall apart. You fall apart and you're dead. So if it seems like I don't give a shit, that's because there's nothing left to give a shit about." She meant it, too. Shannon could see that. Lauren was in here because of duty, not because she felt some urge to comfort Blaine or look out for him. She was in here because that was what she needed to do.

Shannon stared at the girl sitting across from her for a long moment. Lauren had always been a tough kid, and Shannon had really respected her for it. With Blaine breaking down at the beginning and the other kids to watch out for, Shannon had been _grateful_ that Lauren was so tough. Now, though, she wondered if she hadn't let Lauren Zizes down worse than any of the others.

***

When Blaine woke up, Brother Cavil was sitting over him, head bowed.

"Are you praying?" he tried to ask, but his throat was dry and scratchy. The words came out as a croak.

Cavil didn't move at first, then raised his head and handed Blaine a glass of water. "Here you go."

Blaine drank. The water was cool on his throat. "Thanks," he managed to say when he was done. "How bad?"

"We don't know. But you should feel better in a few days, when the worst of the initial poisoning has passed."

Blaine wanted to say something but his throat protested and he settled for smiling. Cavil looked disturbed.

"You've had a lot of visitors," he said finally. "Pretty much everyone's found their way in here, Anders at least four times. A lot of people want to see you recover."

Warmth flooded Blaine at that news. "Thank you," he managed again.

Cavil frowned. "Don't talk," he ordered. He picked up the blanket and pulled it higher around Blaine's shoulders. "You're not out of the woods yet."

Cavil had said don't talk, but Blaine couldn't resist one question. "Pray with me?"

Their eyes met for a long moment, and Blaine actually thought that Cavil might refuse. But then Cavil nodded and bowed his head, taking Blaine's hand in his. "Lords of Kobol, hear our prayer…"

Blaine let the litany of the prayer wash over him, and the unexpected gratitude for being given just a little more time flood his soul.

***

The morning was one of the brightest and clearest they'd had yet. If there were birds left alive, they would be singing. Shannon, Anthony, and Lauren were at the shooting range just outside the school fence, practicing. Blaine sat in the sunshine, a blanket around his shoulders. The worst of the radiation sickness had passed, but he was still sick and weak.

"Nice one, Lauren," Anthony said, as Lauren took out four of the five bottles.

"Thanks." Lauren tossed the gun down and sat down next to Blaine. "You're up."

Anthony headed down to set up new bottles for his own turn. He had set two of them up when the gunshots rang out and he crumpled to the ground.

"Frak!" Lauren shouted, rolling for her own gun. Shannon jerked around and saw three Centurions emerging from the forest. She took aim and fired right at the head of the one, and the sparks flew.

"Run!" she yelled at Blaine. "Get back to the school and tell them the Cylons are coming!" Blaine stumbled to his feet and took off, dropping his blanket as he ran. She turned back to face the Centurions. "Wish we had something bigger," she shouted, firing her gun again.

"Is there a reason we're not running, too?" Lauren asked. "It looks like there's more coming."

A whining sound from above their heads answered that question right away. "Get down!" Shannon shouted, pulling Lauren to the ground. They covered their heads as an explosion shook the forest floor. Debris rained down on them. Another explosion followed the first, and then the rapid sound of gunfire. They could hear screaming coming from the school.

"Get up!" Jean was running towards them. "Get up and run! They're about to bomb the school!"

Shannon and Lauren exchanged glances, and did exactly as Jean said. Shannon was vaguely aware that they were leaving Anthony's body, but they'd left bodies before. She clung to her gun and ran like hell, praying that others would follow.

"Hurry!" Jean yelled, catching up.

"Where the hell are we running to?" Shannon demanded.

"Just away!" Jean looked back over her shoulder. "FRAK!"

The force of the explosion sent all three of them flying. The dirt scraped Shannon's cheek as she landed on the ground. She tried to get to her feet, but the force of the air rushing over her wouldn't let her. Finally, the pressure let up and she was able to scoot over to Lauren.

"You okay?"

Lauren's face was dirty and there was a nasty cut on her forehead, but her eyes were clear. "I'm ready. Where are we going?"

"Got me. Jean?"

"Anders said to regroup two klicks south. He said spreading out might be the best thing."

"But what about the others? We sent Blaine back-"

"If he's alive, he'll be moving," Jean said. "Let's go."

They made their way through the forest. Shannon felt like they should be stealthy- after all, they were on the run- but neither she nor Lauren were hunters, and Jean managed to step on pretty much every twig and pinecone in her path. Not that Shannon blamed her. After being safe at the high school for the past nine months, the attack had shaken her badly. Not to mention that she couldn't understand why the Cylons wouldn't be hunting them down and taking them out, or just nuking the whole area. If they'd decided to stomp out the Resistance and bomb the school, then this was a mission of extinction. No one was going to survive.

As they walked, they came across other survivors. By the time they reached the rendezvous point, there were eighteen others there. Shannon sat down on a big rock gratefully, taking a bottle of water that someone handed her. She had no idea what was going to happen next.

Little by little, people trickled in, and by the end, they had twenty-seven. She smiled when she saw Anders, but that relief wasn't anything compared to when Brother Cavil joined them with Blaine. Blaine had to be supported and his face was downright gray, but he was at least still alive. Shannon met Cavil's eyes, and he gestured with his head for the two of them to step away.

"Everything all right?" Shannon asked.

"He's gonna need help," Cavil said. "The latent period picked a really bad time to end, and I'm not sure he's going to make it."

"He's going to make it wherever we're going if I have to carry him myself," Shannon informed him. "We'll sort it out when we get there." Wherever _there_ was- she had no frakking idea. Shannon strode back to where Blaine was sitting with Lauren, who had the sense to be give him some water. She had two kids left now, and she had to believe she wasn't going to let anything happen to them.

***

They walked the whole morning. Lauren was used to walking at this point, but she was tired and her head was killing her, and when they saw ships streaking across the sky, she couldn't even find it in her to be afraid. Just exhausted. If the Cylons were going to wipe them all out, couldn't they at least get their elbows out of their asses and do it right? This getting left behind thing was getting insulting, to say the least.

"Shit! Everyone get down!" Anders gestured to them all.

Again? Lauren hit the ground with a weary sigh. But the last thing she expected was someone calling out.

"You got a Samuel T. Anders there?"

The voice was familiar, but she couldn't place where she'd heard it before. It wasn't one of the humanoid Cylons- she'd know those voices anywhere. It came to her when someone shouted back, "Is there a Kara Thrace there?" The first voice had been Karl Agathon.

"If there is, you tell her she took her good, sweet time getting here," Anders added.

Lauren looked over at Coach. "Kara Thrace? The crazy military chick who flew off?"

Coach shrugged. "Maybe she found someplace safe."

Anders was charging down the hill and then hugging Thrace, and everyone began standing up. Thrace had brought a hell of a lot of people with her, including people in flight gear and… frak, _yes_. Marines.

"No way," Coach said. "She really came back."

There was something about her voice… Lauren looked at her sharply. "Came back from where?"

"Incoming!" someone yelled, and yet again, they were running forward and diving for cover. There was a broke stone wall of a destroyed house that at least gave them something to hide behind, and this time there were Marines all around them. Lauren found herself shoulder to shoulder with a Marine, firing at the Centurions. The Marine didn't comment, but she saw the glint of approval in his eyes. The Marines and Thrace and Agathon were shouting back and forth about Raptors and jammed signals, but all Lauren could focus on was the Centurions firing at them.

On her other side, Blaine was propped up against the wall, a gun in his hands. He looked like shit and his eyes were so glassy that Lauren was sure he couldn't be hitting anything he was firing at, but he was still fighting. She had to respect that.

Then, as suddenly as the attack had begun, it stopped. The forest was silent, except for the breathing of the humans and the clanking of Centurions. No gunshots. No explosions.

Anders was talking anxiously with Thrace and Agathon, and the toaster that had been with them before. Lauren tried to listen, but Blaine was vomiting next to her. He was trying to do it quietly, but it sounded wretched. She rubbed his back, looking around at the faces of the Marines who had come.

They had to have been holed up on some military base, she thought as she looked at them. It was certainly possible. They certainly looked like they'd been through the wringer. But her eyes kept coming back to one face, a Marine who was watching her. His brows were furrowed together, and he looked so much like Puck that she couldn't keep her eyes off him.

"Where are you guys coming from?" she asked the Marine next to her.

"We're from the Fleet." He handed her a canteen of water. She took a swig from and then passed to Blaine.

"The Fleet?"

"Yeah." He saw her confusion. "Lieutenant Thrace told us you guys were still back here. Hey- is he okay?"

Lauren glanced over at Blaine. He was still conscious, at any rate. "Radiation poisoning," she explained to the Marine. She noticed a patch on his uniform that read 'Nowart'. "He needs medical help."

"When we get him back up there, we'll get him to the doctor," Nowart promised. He looked over his shoulder. "They're still not firing."

Because he'd just been firing at toasters a few minutes before, Lauren decided not to mock him for stating the obvious. Instead, her eyes were drawn back to the Puck look-alike, who was still staring at her. Really, though, he _did_ look like Puck, right down to the-

"Zizes? Is that you?"

"No." That was his voice, and it made her stomach drop all the way down to her toes and her blood turn cold. "No way."

The Marine's eyes widened. "Lauren! You're… holy frakking shit! You're alive?"

She couldn't move, but Puck crawled across the space between them and threw his arms around her neck. She supposed she should wonder if he was a Cylon, but she was pretty sure even a Cylon couldn't pull off this sort of blubbering as he held on to her.

"Hey!" Coach hissed. "Let's keep the gratitude down a bit, will ya? They're still out there!" She opened her mouth to say more, and then realized exactly who had Lauren in a death grip. "Puckerman? Is that you?"

Puck finally pulled away. "Coach?"

"Whoa, let's not do the running across the fields to embrace thing," Coach said, her hand up. But her smile was undeniable. "That's really you?"

"What?" Blaine asked, his voice rough but a smile pulling his lips. "I don't get a big hug hello?"

Puck looked at him and then recoiled. Lauren wished she could believe it was just surprise, but it probably wasn't, not with the way Blaine looked. But all Puck said was, "Oh, man. Kurt is gonna _freak_ when he finds out that you're still alive."

"Kurt?" Blaine struggled to sit up. "Kurt's still alive?"

"All of New Directions is," Puck said eagerly. "They're all up in the Fleet. Well, all except Finn- he's down here with his Raptor and-"

"You're a Marine, Finn's flying a Raptor," Blaine said weakly. "I hesitate to ask this, but what's Kurt doing?"

"Working with Tom Zarek."

Blaine looked at Lauren. "I died," he said seriously. "That is the only possible explanation. I died."

"Or you're hallucinating," Lauren agreed. She kind of wished the damn Cylons would fire on them again. Gunfire wasn't fun, but it was at least straightforward. "Although I'm not so sure we'd be sharing the same hallucinations."

"Kurt's still alive," Blaine repeated, staring hard at Puck. He reached out one hand and touched Puck's arm, probably to assure himself that Puck was real. "You're taking us out of here."

"Yeah, if we can get past these frakkers," Puck said. He glared at the wall that stood between them and the Cylons. "Wonder what the hell is going on?"

Minutes ticked by with nothing happening, and eventually, Lauren made herself a little more comfortable. Nowart had moved, and Puck had taken his place next to her. Having him sit there beside her again was the most surreal experience of her life.

"You look different," Puck said after a half-hour had gone by.

"Yeah?" She hadn't looked in a mirror in ages.

He nodded down at her body. "You've lost a lot."

"Running around shooting toasters all day will do that." She wasn't what she'd call skinny, but what she had was turning to pure muscle. "You look different, too."

"You don't know the half of it," Puck said, thumping his helmet. "I don't have the 'hawk."

"Wow." It was all she could think of to say.

"Yeah." Puck sat down beside her. "Come on. I'm sure you've got a lot to tell me about what the hell you guys have been doing that you survived down here for nine frakking months. Which is _amazing_, by the way. Should have known the Cylons couldn't stop you."

She glanced over at Thrace, Anders, and Agathon. They were still watching out the little peep hole that they'd found, but nothing was happening any time soon, from the looks of things. Something about the way Thrace and Agathon were sitting made Lauren think they were going to be here for a while. Maybe even enough time to catch up with a dead boyfriend.

Lauren was pretty sure this ranked as one of her top ten most frakked-up days in her life.

***

"They're gone. They just left," Thrace said.

Shannon stared around at the empty forest, unable to believe it. First they had rescuers, then the New Directions had survived the attacks and were in the Fleet, and now the Cylons had just up and disappeared? It was too much hope all at once, and she didn't know what to do with it. They couldn't be gone.

But they were. Brother Cavil raised his hands to the sky. "Thank the Gods! It's a miracle!" he announced, and then took off his hat and bowed his head. "Let us pray."

Shannon didn't bow her head for the prayer, waiting for the other shoe to fall. But no Centurions lurched out at them, and the forest stayed quiet except for them.

"All right," Agathon said as soon as Cavil had finished his prayer. "If they're gonna let us run, let's run. Let's move out, people!"

"This is real, isn't it?" Blaine asked her when she went to help him to his feet. He felt a lot lighter than he had before he'd got caught out in the forest. "We're really getting off this planet?"

"That's what they say, kiddo. Come on."

They walked through the forest, Lauren in front of her talking to Puckerman, Blaine at her side, struggling to keep up. Shannon tried to keep the bitter thought that if this had happened a week ago, they'd still have Sean and Anthony out of her mind. They had this much. She should be grateful. But it was hard, especially when after a klick she gave up and handed her gun off to Lauren and pulled Blaine up on her back piggy-back style. She could feel the heat of fever from his body.

She didn't start really believing this was real until she saw the Raptors, ready and waiting.

"Finn!" Puck yelled when they got close enough, and he wasn't lying. There was Hudson, wearing a leather flight suit. She wouldn't have recognized him if Puck hadn't called out- he didn't look like the kid she remembered in the football jersey. He looked like a warrior now. But his eyes widened as he saw them, and he ran forward.

"Coach? Coach Beiste, are you kidding me?" He waited just long enough for her to slip Blaine off her back and then wrapped her in an exuberant bear hug. Shannon couldn't help laughing.

"Come on," Puck said. "For some reason, the Cylons let us go. So let's go already."

"Right." Finn's eyes were wide when he recognized Lauren, too, but it was the sight of Blaine that really changed his face. He clapped Blaine on the shoulder, squeezing hard, and then jumped into the Raptor and started flipping switches and talking to his co-pilot, and now he was pure Raptor pilot. Shannon guided Blaine in, and Puck and Lauren and several other Marines piled in after. Finn shut the door, and they lifted off the ground. Through the front window, Shannon could see the trees shrinking, and then the blue fading into black.

"Jumping in three, two, one… jump!"

The world lurched, and they were away. Caprica was gone.

The docking bay of the Galactica was as big as a parking garage. Shannon was impressed, but even more, she couldn't believe that they were here. That they were off that damn planet and they were _safe_. And the number of people milling around… she hadn't realized just how cut off they'd really been- just how _alone_ they'd all really been- until she saw them all.

"Come on," Finn said when the Raptor was shut off and the door was open. He squeezed back into the passenger section and put an arm around Blaine. "You ready?" he asked, gently helping him to his feet. "I told Dee to pass the word that we were coming. Kurt might even be there already." Blaine nodded and tightened his grip around Finn's neck.

People were watching curiously as they emerged from the Raptor. It occurred to Shannon that they must be one hell of a survival story, just like the Fleet was to them. The Fleet. The number of people who must be here was-

The clatter of a clipboard falling to the ground and a high-pitched shriek broke her train of thought. Out of what felt like nowhere she saw Kurt run to Blaine, throwing his arms around his neck. Blaine had to take a step back, but his embrace was no less tight, and both of them were crying as they held on to each other.

A man in a suit and tie picked up the clipboard Kurt had dropped. "Get a picture of that," he said to the woman standing near him, who was holding a camera. "That's gold." The woman obeyed. Shannon stared at him, because who the hell thought of turning a reunion like this into gold? But the man didn't notice her; he was watching the scene unfolding in front of him with hawk-like eyes. Kurt and Blaine were now in the _I can't believe you're alive_ stage of their reunion, with Kurt cupping Blaine's face in his hands and Blaine running fingers through Kurt's hair.

After nine months of survival on Caprica, the bay of _Galactica_ seemed like a foreign world. Shannon watched the medical team running in, immediately loading the injured onto gurneys and speeding them away like it was a scene out of a dream, or a slow montage from a movie. There was a hand on her own elbow then, and someone telling her to come with them to a decontamination shower. She saw Blaine being pulled from Kurt and people erecting huge screens and bringing out hoses.

The water was so cold and hit her with such a force that she couldn't help yelping. It was far from the most pleasant thing she'd ever felt, but it was over fairly quickly. When the water turned off she was left with her clothing sodden and dripping and her shoes feeling like they weighed a ton. Lauren was pushing her sopping hair behind her ears and a pair of medics were helping Blaine onto a gurney. Kurt followed him, clinging to his hand.

"Cylon!"

She whirled as she heard someone say it. "What happened?"

"They brought a Cylon up. The priest." The mechanic moved past her, headed for a tool bench. "Cavil, I think he calls himself. They hauled him to the brig already."

The news nearly knocked Shannon off her feet. _Cavil_ was a Cylon? All she could say was the same thing she'd said the day that Anders had told her about the attacks.

"Frak me."

"Yeah," Anders said, appearing at her elbow. "I feel the same way."

Blaine hurt- _everything_ hurt. His stomach was cramping to a ridiculous extent, his throat felt like burning sandpaper, his muscles were sore and he was shivering with fever. There was a lot of beeping monitors and people sticking him with, but Blaine didn't want anything to do with any of that. He just wanted to lose himself in the two warm hands wrapped around his own, and Kurt's face above him. But the rest of the world insisted he acknowledged it.

"Blaine Anderson?" A pleasant man with wild ash blond hair and wearing blue scrubs under his white coat extended a hand. "I'm Dr. Michael Robert. I specialize in internal medicine, so Dr. Cottle asked me to come over here and take a look at you. This is my assistant, Quinn Fabray."

"Hello, Blaine," Quinn said. She was smiling and her eyes were shining, and Blaine thought she had never looked more beautiful. He wanted to hug her, but she was at her job. It probably wasn't professional or something.

Dr. Robert was examining his chart. "You're Sagittaron?" he asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

Blaine nodded, and Kurt spoke up for him. "It's not a problem," he said. "He doesn't have issues with medicine." Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand in silent thanks and nodded.

"Hmm. It's a good thing you don't, because you're going to need a lot of it," Dr. Robert said. His frown deepened. "We'd better get him started on a course of granulocyte colony-stimulating factor, and let's get some platelets into him as well. We're going to have to do some bone marrow testing in order to assess the extent of the damage, but given the extent of the exposure and the current symptoms being presented, I think it's best to act immediately."

Quinn was writing rapidly. "Is the granulocyte colony-stimulating factor intravenous or oral?"

"I'll show you in a few minutes." He was still studying the chart. "Kurt? You're Kurt, right?" he asked, looking at Kurt. "Can I talk to you? In private?"

Kurt looked down at Blaine hastily, and Blaine nodded. "All right." He stepped away with Dr. Robert, leaving Blaine with Quinn.

Quinn sat down beside him and took his hand. Her hands were cooler than Kurt's, but right now the coolness felt good against his fevered skin. "How are you feeling?" she asked gently.

"Lousy," Blaine managed to croak. "Really lousy."

"Well, Dr. Robert is a really good doctor," Quinn reassured him. "We'll get you feeling better. I looked up radiation sickness when they launched the rescue mission back to Caprica, and it's very treatable. It might be a rough couple of days, but we'll get you through, okay?" She leaned over and kissed Blaine on the forehead.

"Are you this affectionate with all your patients?" he managed to ask.

"No. Just the ones I thought were dead," Quinn said with a little laugh. "I'll try to put my bedside manner on better next time, but I'm so glad to see you."

_Glad to see you, too_, Blaine wanted to say, but he was suddenly very, very tired. Quinn saw his eyelids drooping.

"There's a sedative in your IV," she told him. "Get some sleep."

"Kurt…"

"He'll be here as soon as Dr. Robert is done with him, you know that. Go to sleep."

He did.

***

"Well, well, well. I've always thought the Cylons were remarkably incompetent, but this proves it. Either that or you're like a cockroach, and it was going to take a hell of a lot more than a nuclear bomb to take you and those tree trunks you call legs out." Sue Sylvester was standing at the infirmary door, leaning against the edge with her arms crossed.

"I should have known even Cylons couldn't stomp on you," Shannon shot back. "What happened? They took one look at your face and ran away?"

Sue broke first, smiling and stepping forward, and Shannon met her halfway. They embraced. Quickly, and Shannon wasn't under any illusions, but it _was_ the end of the worlds. Miracles had to happen sometime.

And there were more miracles. Coming behind Sue was Will, who Shannon greeted much more enthusiastically, and several of the New Directions kids, including Mike Chang and Sam Evans- two of her guys. As she hugged them, she noticed a guy that she was pretty sure was Kurt's father slipping by, obviously headed in for Blaine and his son. But she forgot that in the warm press of New Directions and her guys, the warm embrace of family.

***

"So how long are they gonna keep you in here?" Puck asked.

"They want me here overnight," Lauren said. She had eight stitches in her head. "Something about a concussion."

"Bummer." Puck sat down on her bed. "I could stay tonight," he offered. "Sergeant Nowart said I could."

"How hard did you have to beg?"

Puck shrugged. "There were tears. So? Want me to stay?"

"No."

"What?" Puck sat up straighter. "Lauren, they said you're not going to be allowed to sleep much tonight. Don't you want some company or something?"

"No." She saw the look on his face and softened. "Look, Puckerman. I'm not making any statement, okay? Just… I didn't even _know_ you guys were up here, and I'm not just talking about New Directions. I'm talking about the entire frakking Fleet. I need a night just to… to _get_ it, you know? This is crazy."

Puck nodded. "All right." He was hurt, and she knew that she should care, but she just didn't feel it. All she saw was a man- definitely not a boy anymore but a man- sitting across from her, looking confused and alone. She patted his hand.

"Come back tomorrow and we'll talk more," she promised. "Just give me some time tonight."

"All right." Puck slid off the bed. He hesitated, and Lauren suspected he was going to kiss her, but fortunately, he thought better of it. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She watched him go, wishing she felt more. But the whole thing- everything, from the fact she was sitting in an infirmary bed on a spaceship to the fact that Puck was alive to the fact that there were over forty thousand people here- all of it felt unreal. Like a movie she was watching instead of a life she was living. She didn't believe that having the whole night to think would even begin to help her process it all, but she'd been wrong before.

She lay back in her bed and closed her eyes.

***

Kurt was lying beside him. His eyes and nose were both red, and Blaine was pretty sure that meant that whatever news Dr. Robert had given him wasn't good, but Kurt refused to talk about it. All he would say was that Blaine would get better. Blaine had a feeling that it wasn't going to happen.

He wanted to. He'd wanted to survive back on Caprica, but now that feeling was intensified to the point of pain. Because Kurt wasn't in Elysium, Kurt was _here_. If he died, Kurt wasn't waiting for him anymore. If he died, he would be waiting for Kurt instead. He could- he'd wait until the end of time if he had to- but he'd really rather not.

His limbs were heavy and he was ridiculously tired. His throat felt a little better and he'd stopped vomiting, but he felt bloated and he still had no appetite. He still felt dirty and disgusting, even after the decontamination shower and trading his filthy clothes for a hospital gown. That was one way he could be _sure_ Kurt was in love with him, he thought with a touch of amusement. Despite the horrendous infirmary attire he was sporting, Kurt was lying beside him, stroking his hair very, very gently, and singing "Blackbird." Blaine just listened, at peace. He'd never expected to hear Kurt sing again in this world.

"Kurt?"

"Mmm?"

"Can you sing 'Blackbird' for me one more time?"

"I can sing it as many times as you want," Kurt said, kissing Blaine's forehead gently. "I'll sing it on constant repeat if it makes you happy."

"No. That's… that's okay. Just one more time."

"All right." Kurt took a deep breath, but Blaine managed to turn his head and stop him.

"Not now," he said. It took Kurt a bit, but Blaine saw the precise moment that comprehension dawned.

"Oh, no. No, no, no…" Kurt sat up, shaking his head. "You're going to make it through this, Blaine. I know it. I believe in you. You can't die on me. Not again."

"Not planning on it," Blaine said. "Just… in case.

"Blaine-"

"When I thought you were dead, that song made me feel close to you again. It made me feel like you were there with me. I just… if I die, I want…." He couldn't quite say it. Instead, he caught Kurt's hand and tugged him down. Kurt understood and came down for the kiss. It was gentle and tender, nothing like their kisses used to be, but everything that Blaine wanted in a kiss right now. Kurt lingered for a long time, then broke away and snuggled down next to Blaine. "Mind if I stay here tonight?"

"You don't have anywhere to be?"

"The polls opened. The campaign is over." Kurt shrugged. "Besides, Tom said I'd be useless just flitting around listening to the results."

"Flitting?"

"His exact words might have been 'acting like a neurotic head case'," Kurt admitted.

Blaine smiled and nestled closer. He was warm and he was as comfortable as he was going to get. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

***

"Hey Lauren. How are you feeling?"

It was night, technically. The infirmary was quieter, but there was still activity and light. Lauren looked up from the book she was reading to see Quinn standing at her bedside, smiling. Given how many ups and downs they'd always had, Quinn smiling at her was just a weird feeling.

"I'm okay," Lauren said. "Head still hurts."

"That's normal," Quinn said, like she knew it all. "I brought you your medicine." She extended a paper cup of pills. Lauren took it from her and knocked them back, taking them dry.

"Did you want some water?"

Lauren shook her head.

"Okay." Quinn shifted. "Blaine's doing better." She waited for Lauren to ask for more details, but Lauren just stared at her. But instead of picking up the telepathic messages to just go away, Quinn smiled. "He's doing a lot better. I know the symptoms have been brutal, but there really is a good chance he's going to make it now that he's getting medicine."

"Great." Lauren picked up her book.

Quinn cocked her head. "Don't you care? You were down there with him. You must have gotten close." Lauren shrugged, and Quinn frowned. "Well, either way, him surviving would be a gift from the Gods."

"No, it would be result of him getting medicine. That's what medicine is _for_, to save lives. You should know that, if you're a doctor now."

"I'm not a doctor," Quinn demurred.

"But you're on your way to being one. And you're giving Blaine medicine, not praying for him."

"Actually, I'm doing both."

Lauren rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

Quinn gave one of her little, incredulous laughs that she used when she wanted people to know they were idiots for not agreeing with her. "How can you even think that? If there ever was a miracle, it was that you and Coach Beiste and Blaine survived and got up here."

"A miracle?" Lauren asked incredulously, putting her book down in her lap. "You think this is a frakking miracle?"

"Well, yes," Quinn said. "What else would it be?"

"What else would it be? Let me tell you something, Fabray. Being one of the last hundred people left alive on a nuked out planet is _not_ a miracle. Watching your friends get blown to smithereens is not a miracle. Stepping over decaying bodies while you search for food and going into armories with dead guards and watching toasters walking over it all and seeing mass graves and getting radiation shots each day and funerals for thirty-eight people and no funerals for Sean or Anthony and leaving their bodies to rot on the ground is NOT A MIRACLE!" Her hands clenched hard around the bed rails. "So don't talk to me about frakking miracles, Fabray. Maybe they exist, but Caprica wasn't a miracle. It was hell."

Quinn looked like she was about to cry. "Lauren…."

"Get out of here." Lauren took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. It wasn't working. She felt exposed, "Get out."

"Do you need-"

"I don't _need_ anything! Just leave me alone."

"Quinn." Dr. Robert interrupted them. "It's time to move on to the next patient." He was standing over by Blaine's bedside.

"I'm coming," Quinn said, and then turned back to Lauren. "I don't care what you say. I'm not saying it was easy for you, but I do know that every time I see Kurt, it's a miracle."

"I'm sure Kurt would agree," Lauren said sourly. Quinn glared at her one more time and left to help Dr. Robert. Lauren could hear Dr. Robert giving her instructions about injections and colony whatevers, and when she looked, Dr. Robert handed Quinn a needle. Quinn injected the medicine into the drip bag, and he patted her on the shoulder with something that looked like pride. They pulled the curtain and stepped away, and the infirmary seemed to quiet down a little more.

She missed Caprica. Lauren wouldn't have thought it possible. She'd hated every moment of Caprica, but now it felt weird to be sleeping in a bed instead of a nest of blankets on a classroom floor. She wasn't alone, but Anthony and Sean were dead, and Blaine was in another bed, struggling. Beiste wasn't even in the room- maybe not even on the _Galactica_. She had no idea where Anders was, and she'd heard people saying that Cavil was a Cylon.

Frakked up was all she'd known for the past nine months, but this was frakking up what she was used to. And that didn't even bring Puckerman into the equation.

Lauren knew they'd wake her up at some point, but right now, sleep was appealing. Not just because her body was exhausted, but because it was an escape. She closed her eyes and let herself drift away.

She did wake up, not because someone was shaking her to make sure she was still alive, but to the sound of the long, flat beep of a monitor. She heard the commotion of doctors running, low urgent voices and somebody crying. Even before she pried her eyes open, she knew what was happening.

Blaine was dead.

***

The funeral was small- only the Resistance, New Directions, Thrace, Agathon, Dr. Robert, and Tom Zarek, of all people. Kurt told Shannon bitterly that Blaine had told him that if he did die he wanted Brother Cavil to do the ceremony, which said a lot about how sick Blaine had been that he hadn't heard. They stood in an airlock for the final rites, administered by a priest that had never met Blaine and didn't know the first thing about him. But then, at least Blaine was getting a funeral. It was more than they'd been able to do for Sean or Anthony.

"Does anyone want to say anything?" the priest asked when he concluded his short service. Everyone looked at Kurt.

Kurt was wearing black and had tears streaming freely down his face. But Shannon wasn't surprised when he stepped forward and took a deep breath. "There's a lot I could say about Blaine," he said. "But Blaine was someone who expressed himself best through performing and through song. So, if I may, I'd like to sing a song for Blaine. He asked…" Kurt's voice broke, and for a moment Shannon thought it was all over, but he pulled himself back together. "Blaine asked for me to sing this song one more time for him, and I know that this is what he meant." He began singing "Blackbird," his voice emotional and resonating in the airlock.

He faltered, a few stanzas in. Shannon had known he would, and wished she could step in to help him. She didn't need to. Anders stepped up beside Kurt, asked permission with a glance, and then added his voice to the song. Bolstered by the show of support, Kurt strengthened his voice, and the two of them sang the song as a duet. Shannon didn't even bother to try to hide the fact she was crying, and neither did anyone else.

When the song was done, Kurt took a step back. His father gripped his hand, and Tom Zarek put a hand on his shoulder. It was good to know that the kid at least had people to keep an eye on him.

"Anyone else?" the priest prompted.

"Yeah," Shannon stepped forward. "I'll take a shot."

All their faces turned to her. "You know," she began, "when you think about it, it's kind of amazing. The worlds have ended and there's only a handful of us left, and we're standing here at this kid's funeral and there are over thirty people here who knew him pretty well. They loved him enough to come to a funeral, even when, from what I hear, there's a lot of other important stuff going on. And that's saying something, not only about the world, but about the kind of person that has this many people coming to his funeral.

"With as much death as we've all seen, it's easy to get used to it. Blaine never did. He was horrified every time he saw a body. I know you're thinking that doesn't make a very good soldier, and yeah, he wasn't one, but it makes a good person. And that's what Blaine was. He was a good person. He held on to his humanity when they were trying to knock it out of him. He might not have ever taken out a all that many Cylons, but shooting isn't the only kind of strength, and I'm proud of him for what he did. I'm proud of all my guys- all my kids. Anthony, Sean, Lauren-" her eyes flicked to her sole survivor, who smiled grimly back at her, "and Blaine. You guys all did what was asked of you, which is more than should ever be asked of anyone, and I couldn't be prouder."

When the funeral was over and the coffin had been ejected out into space, she stood by the airlock, watching the others leave. Kurt left first, swiftly, flanked by his father and Zarek. Others followed their lead, talking in low, respectful voices or staying silent. Mike stopped as he walked by her, taking his arm from Tina's shoulders long enough to hug Shannon. Sam stopped as well, quietly introducing his wife Rya. Finn lingered a little longer with his mother and Rachel, talking to Anders. Quinn had lost her graceful composure and was crying, and Dr. Robert had an awkward arm around her.

"How are you doing?" Will asked Shannon.

Shannon shrugged. "I'm hanging in there. I've been ready for this one, Will. It's been a long time coming."

"That doesn't make it any easier."

"No," Shannon said with a sigh, "it doesn't. It's kind of unbelievable that I just have time to sit down and think about it though, you know? That there's no Cylons on me or anything. I didn't have that yet with the other two."

"So all three are going to hit you at once."

"Yeah." Something trembled inside her. "I'm gonna have to find a good place to hole up and cry for a while."

"Well," Will said, "on the _Cybele_ there's a room with a yellow door. And there are two spare bunks in it, at least until the Fleet finds Earth. If you and Lauren want them, they're yours."

Shannon smiled down at Will and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "I missed you, you know."

"Yeah. I missed you, too." Will hugged her back. "Don't die on me again any time soon, okay? I'm not sure I can handle Sue without you, now that you're back."

"I don't know how you managed this long," Shannon agreed. "Come on. Let's go see this room of yours."

Will grinned and started leading her towards the docking bay. "Welcome home, Shannon."

As they left, she looked over her shoulder and saw Anders, still talking to a few others. He lifted a hand in a silent gesture, and she nodded back. Maybe she should have said more, but this wasn't a goodbye. The fight wasn't over. Only this time, they had more people, more help. This time, they finally had a chance.

Ruined hope was worse than no hope at all. But hope fulfilled… that was a blessing beyond compare. Shannon closed her eyes and smiled. They'd lost a lot of people, but they were here, and that was something.

***

"I've been to a lot of funerals the past nine months," Puck said, "but they haven't felt like that."

Lauren nodded silently, looking down over the landing bay. She and Puck were sitting on the catwalk, legs dangling off the edge and leaning on the railing. It would be so easy to just _fall_ if that railing wasn't there, but Lauren knew if it wasn't, she'd be sitting way back.

"Kurt wasn't looking so good, though," Puck said when Lauren didn't speak.

Lauren shrugged. "That's one way to put it."

"I can't imagine what he's going through." Lauren looked at Puck in surprise, but Puck was staring down at the landing bay. "I mean, he was just… I guess he was coming to terms with Blaine being dead. Then he gets Blaine back, just for a bit, and he dies anyway."

"Would have been kinder if Blaine had died on Caprica," Lauren said.

Puck glared at her. "That's not what I said."

"No. But it's what you meant." She sighed. "And you're right. It would have been. And that's the problem with you and me. Well, one of them."

"What is?"

"I thought you were dead," Lauren said. "And you thought I was. We're still fighting. You're a Marine. One of us is going to die."

Puck didn't answer her right away. Finally, he just said, "Yeah." He turned his gaze back to her. "You were always a badass, you know. Strongest chick I've ever met. But you got even stronger down there. You've changed."

"You, too."

"Don't get me wrong," Puck added hastily. "You're still the hottest girl I know. But…"

"Yeah. 'Frakked up' isn't the right description, but it's the closest I've got," Lauren finished for him when Puck wouldn't say the words. "You live for nine months thinking there are about a hundred survivors left, watching corpses burn and shooting toasters, and it does things to you. You get… harder. Or you break. One or the other."

"Blaine broke, didn't he?"

"Almost."

Puck nodded once and then leaned back on his hands. He'd only gotten better looking in the past nine months. His face had a new leanness to it, but more than that, it had a maturity that hadn't been there the last time Lauren had seen him. Which promptly went away at his next question. "So, down there on Caprica, were you getting laid?"

Lauren snorted. "Hardly. How about you? How many are there up here?" Puck looked guilty, but she nudged him with her shoulder. "Come on, Puckerman. Fess up or I'm just going to assume you lost your dick to the toasters."

"Haha. Not that many, actually. One."

"One?" Lauren arched an eyebrow. "Who?"

Puck had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "The XO's wife."

Lauren burst out laughing. "You're disgusting!" she said when she could speak again. "Seriously, Puckerman. You never will change, will you?"

"You know I'd drop her in a heartbeat," Puck said.

Lauren shook her head. "Don't. At least, not for me. If I want you again, I'll call and you'll come running."

"Yeah." Puck sighed. "Is that how we're leaving it, then?"

"We're not _leaving_ anything," Lauren said. "But yeah. Right now, that's all I can handle. I think that's all _you_ can handle. We ever get someplace safe, get the Cylons off our backs and get past the death-at-any-minute thing, then we'll talk."

"Is that a promise?" Puck asked.

Lauren extended her hand. "Absolutely." Puck took her hand and they shook on it.

She didn't want love right now, and she definitely couldn't handle romance. She wasn't bothered by the thought, either. Right now, there were other things to think about. But it was nice to sit next to Puck again, and it was nice just to listen to his inane chatter about the Marines and the Fleet in general. Even though she didn't want to think it, Lauren couldn't shake the feeling that she had finally come home.


	8. Only Shooting Stars Break the Mold

Rachel sat in the shuttle on the way over to the second Presidential debate, clutching her notebook in her lap. Her heart was pounding hard with excitement. "I've never been over to the _Galactica_ before," she confided.

D'Anna Biers arched an eyebrow in wry amusement. "You'll get over it," she predicted. "And fast. Believe me, the _Galactica_ isn't anything like what you're imagining."

"What do you mean?"

"It's dark, dull, and looks more like a cheap motel combined with a factory. If Adama was smart, he would have these debates on the _Pegasus._"

"The _Pegasus_," Playa Palacios said, breaking into their conversation. "Imagine. A press room with personal keyboards in the desks and cushions on the seats that aren't torn."

"Microphones that always work," D'Anna said.

"Decent telescreens behind the speakers."

"Legroom in the seats."

Both women sighed longingly. Rachel looked back and forth between them. "Is the _Pegasus_ really that much nicer than the _Galactica_?" she asked uncertainly.

"It was built thirty years later. What do you think?" D'Anna said.

Rachel wanted to respond, but D'Anna started up a conversation with Playa, turning her body in such a way that it was clear that Rachel was not welcome to participate. It didn't matter anyway, because they were landing. Rachel straightened up, eager to look around and see this place that Finn was living. Where he was _still_ living, she told herself firmly. Finn had come over to say goodbye before a mission the other night, and even though he couldn't tell them what the mission was fore, Rachel knew it was something big.

To her delight, the crewman who met their shuttle was Mercedes. She looked good, wearing an olive green uniform with her hair sternly pinned up. Rachel gave her a tentative grin, relieved when Mercedes smiled back much larger.

"Any word from Finn?" Rachel asked as Mercedes started to lead the reporters to the conference room.

"No, but no one expects it right now. Don't worry so much, Rachel," Mercedes said, patting her shoulder. "Worry about the debate. President Roslin is going to _crush_ Baltar," she added with a great deal of satisfaction. "But this is big, right? Them letting you cover this?"

"Well, that's the thing," Rachel said, hesitating.

Mercedes stopped in her tracks. "Wait. What's the thing?"

Rachel grabbed Mercedes' arm and pulled her out of the way. "You've got to help me," she whispered as the other reporters filed into the conference room. "I've been trying and trying to break into the bigger stories, but Mr. Ishinhall won't recognize my obvious talent. He keeps sticking me on pieces of no importance when clearly, I can do much better and much more important work."

"So how am I supposed to help you?" Mercedes asked.

"I have my press credentials, but I'm not on the list of reporters allowed in," Rachel explained. "I just need to get in. Once I get in, I can ask the kind of sharp and incisive questions that will bring Roslin and Baltar to their knees and surely get me noticed as a reporter of note. That's all I need, Mercedes. Just to get into the _room._. Please."

Mercedes hesitated, and Rachel held her breath. To her relief, a huge grin spread across Mercedes' face. "I didn't help you with this," she warned Rachel.

"Oh, thank you, Mercedes. Thank you thank you thank you. When I win the Colonial Press Award, you will be the first person I think in my acceptance speech."

"I'd better be," Mercedes said with a laugh. "Come on. Let's go this way."

The conference room was small and crowded with cameras and reporters. Here and there Rachel caught people eyeing her skeptically, but no one said anything, especially with Mercedes at her side. There were no seats left up front, though, and that was going to make getting noticed harder. Rachel slipped into a seat near the back, grateful that it was at least on an aisle. She opened her notebook nervously, pulled out a pen, and waited. She wished her dads could see her now. They'd be so- no. She cut that line of thought off sharply.

President Roslin entered the room first. She looked completely calm and unruffled, the Admiral beside her. It was brilliant, Rachel had to admit, having the Admiral escort her. It made it perfectly clear where the military stood. Roslin took her seat and a small, dark woman with her hair in an elegant twist bent to whisper something in her ear.

Rachel was so busy watching them that she almost missed Vice President Baltar's entrance. He didn't cut nearly as impressive a figure, Rachel privately thought, although he looked a lot more confident than he should after Roslin's resounding victory at the first debate. Tom Zarek stood next to Baltar, his hands folded in front of him as he half-studied, half-glared at the press, at their opponents, at anything in the room. It said something about the two of them that Rachel only noticed Kurt third. He wasn't wearing bright colors today, which helped explain it, although his bowtie was made of safety pins and his vest appeared to be missing a back. Zarek leaned over and said something to him and Kurt nodded and made some sort of notations on his clipboard, but eventually he looked up. Rachel waved. He took the stairs up to where she was sitting two at a time.

"I didn't know you were here now!" he whispered enthusiastically, crouching down beside her. "Big break?"

"Making one," Rachel whispered back. She looked at the candidates again. "The Vice President looks calm."

"Well, he has a reason to be," Kurt said, smiling enigmatically. "There's a little bombshell… oops. Can't say too much." He winked, and then looked back down. "I'd better get down there," he said apologetically.

"Is there any chance you can direct a question my way?" Rachel asked anxiously.

Kurt gave her one of those wide-eyed, incredulous looks and somehow, Rachel knew she'd asked the wrong thing. "There's no questions," he said. "Just the debate. It's not a press conference, Rachel."

"No questions? But Kurt, I-" She _needed_ to be able to ask questions- that was how she was going to get noticed.

"Don't worry," he said, patting her hand. "There will be a story for you. Trust me." He grinned evilly, and then hurried down the stairs again. Rachel stared after him, feeling like all of her plans were in ruin.

***

Presidential debates were _boring_. Well, not boring, Rachel amended, staring at Roslin, who was talking in a measured, confident voice. Just… hard to understand. They'd discussed economic policy and defense, and frankly, Rachel just didn't fully understand the layers and the fine points. She felt a little better when she saw Kurt stifling a yawn and noticed that two seats down, Sekou Hamilton was doodling a rather entertaining drawing of Baltar.

Roslin had just finished talking about the search for Earth.

"Yes, the search for Earth." Baltar gripped both sides of the podium, his smirk widening. "I have no doubt that President Roslin believes that she has a cunning and scientific plan, but the end result is that we are simply left with the navigational equivalent of throwing darts at a target in terms of deciding where to go. If President Roslin and Admiral Adama knew where Earth was, we would be there by now, or at the very least have an estimation of arrival.

"We, as a Fleet, have not had cause to question this policy until now. How could we? We have nowhere else to go. Even if we found a habitable planet, the Cylons would surely find us and attack, and that would be the end of humanity as we know it. So even if President Roslin is following a will'o'wisp to a mythical haven, her plan has kept us on the move, and therefore safe from the Cylons. But now the game has changed."

There was a slight buzz as Baltar paused for effect, smirking at Roslin. Roslin had her arms crossed and a haughty but interested expression on her face. Baltar's smirk widened to a diabolical grin, and then he turned back to the audience and leaned to the microphone.

"The planet that was discovered is not only habitable, but is hidden in a nebula and therefore concealed from Cylon detection. If elected President, the search for the possibly mythical Earth will be abandoned, and this planet will be settled. Permanently."

Debates weren't the place to ask questions, but every reporter was on their feet. Rachel jumped up as well, her hand in the air, even though she didn't have a question fully formed. But the moderator immediately squashed the press response, and Rachel took her seat reluctantly. Baltar was _radiating_ smugness, and Kurt and Zarek were like a pair of cats who'd gotten to the cream. But the most interesting expression in the entire room was the one on Roslin's face. She was frozen with her eyes opened wide, and Rachel was sure that was an expression of fear.

***

"I'm serious. It's the moment that the election turned," Rachel said to Mr. Ishinhall. "You _have_ to let me cover it."

"Are you insane?" Mr. Ishinhall asked, running a hand through his graying hair, which had thinned out considerably in the eight months that Rachel had known him.

"Not at all. The planet offers people a completely different-"

"I know that," he said, cutting her off. "Everyone knows that. Which is why I'm giving the story to Playa. It's the biggest story in the Fleet right now."

"But-"

"But what? What can you give this story that Playa Palacios can't? You're doing a good enough job with what I give you, Rachel, but the fact is, you're still a kid, and your interviews show it. Your questions are shallow and juvenile, your delivery is too earnest, and you lack the empathy and experience needed to understand what the average person in the Fleet is interested in. People don't care about show tunes and how culture is developing anymore. They only care about staying alive."

"But Mr. Ishinhall-"

"No buts, Rachel. This is a story that can affect the future of the Fleet. Playa is covering it."

Defeated, Rachel did the only thing she knew how to do. She nodded once, very tightly, and stormed out.

***

"Shallow and juvenile! My questions are not shallow and juvenile. They are incisive and cutting, and bringing the focus back to the artistic heart of the people. People _need_ culture! They need music and art and theater! It's what we work to stay alive for!"

"You watched _Death to the Poetry Society_ right before we left Gemenon, didn't you?" Artie asked, looking up from his work and giving Rachel a long, level look. They were sitting in the _Cybele_'s nearly-deserted passenger cabin. Artie had what looked like a sheaf of papers spread out on the table, covered in diagrams and charts. "I'm pretty sure that's a direct quote."

"It was playing over on _Cloud 9_," Rachel said dismissively. "That's not the point. Or it is the point. People _need_ things in their lives other than the daily drudgery of manufacturing lines and training drills! They need escape! Romance! Drama! They need something to stimulate their hearts and their minds."

Artie shrugged. "I don't disagree, but you do realize these things are a lower priority than safety right now, right? Besides, there are a few shows being put on. Why don't you audition for one?"

"They all have my audition tapes, but they're venues that are incapable of properly showcasing my talent," Rachel said.

"Really?" Artie asked. His voice was sarcastic, but his eyes were sympathetic. Rachel sighed and thudded down in a chair at the table he was working at.

"No," Rachel said, crossing her arms. "But the shows that have been on have been put on by troupes. I've tried to get in, but…."

"I know." Artie dropped the sarcasm. "I put in a good word for you with _Days of Our Battleship_, and they said they liked your tape, but they just don't have a part right now for a girl your age."

"It's not fair," Rachel complained. "I'd work so hard. My dads always said that was something that… never mind. I'd work hard. You know that."

"That's what I told them. But the part just isn't there." Artie shrugged. "Rachel… do you think maybe that Ishinhall has a point?"

"What do you mean?" Rachel asked sharply.

Artie shrugged again. "Baltar just announced that if he's elected, we'll be settling permanently on a planet. You haven't even _mentioned_ that."

"So?" Rachel asked, baffled. "You know about it!"

"I'm just sayin'," Artie said. "That's what most people are going to want to know about. What's the planet like? What kind of resources does it have? What sort of temperatures and climate? That's what people want to hear, not if there are plans to build a theater."

Rachel sighed angrily and crossed her arms, looking away. Artie didn't bother to argue with her, but went back to his own work. From where she was sitting, Rachel could see the Fleet out the window, against the constant backdrop of space.

"It has been a long time since we've seen sunlight," she said.

"Mmm."

"I guess I see your point. There is a certain provincial desire to know what sort of surface is down there. But I have no idea where I can…" she trailed off, the idea coming to her.

"Rachel?" Artie looked up, and then groaned. "I have no idea what you're thinking, but I'm not sure I want to know."

"I know what I can do," Rachel said excitedly. "I know how I can get a story in there before Playa does. Will you help me?"

"With what?"

"Just taping. Directing. If I can get an interview subject, would you tape it?"

Artie shrugged. "Sure," he said. "But who would you possibly interview that Playa couldn't interview on her own?"

Rachel just grinned.

***

"No."

"What do you mean, no?" Rachel chased after Kurt into the New Directions room. "You're the aide to a vice presidential candidate!"

"First of all, I'm the aide to a Quorum representative and a campaign manager," Kurt corrected her.

Rachel waved that off. "Everyone knows that Baltar will pick Zarek if he's elected."

"Second," Kurt said, ignoring Rachel's protestation, "I've been told not to talk to the press without clearance. I could get fired over this, Rachel."

"Mr. Zarek wouldn't fire you," Rachel said.

Kurt crossed his arms and glared. "You want to bet?"

Rachel sighed. "Come on. Can't you come up with _something_? I know! We could do a shadow interview, like they do with witnesses of crimes!"

"And you don't think Zarek would recognize my voice?" But Kurt frowned. "Look, the best I can do is ask for the clearance. Okay? I'll ask him." Rachel squealed and lunged forward to hug Kurt. He stiffened in her embrace like he always did when she caught him off guard, but he patted her back. "I can't promise anything," he warned her.

"It's okay," Rachel said, feeling far more hopeful than she had in a while. "I'm sure he'll say yes."

***

Some nights the New Directions barely saw each other, but on that night they somehow seemed to manage to gather in the room. Santana and Mercedes made it over from the _Galactica_, and Sam came over from the _Daru Mozu_, although his wife Rya was stuck working another shift. All of them were there except for Finn and Puck, who were off on that classified mission.

"I don't get it," Santana said that night, putting her stocking feet up on the table. "What's the big deal about a supernova?"

"Nebula, Santana," Quinn said, nudging her feet off the table. "There's a huge difference."

"Whatever. What's the big deal about a nebula?"

"In a word, interference," Artie explained. "The nebula hinders DRADIS triangulation. It's practically useless."

"Which means the Cylons won't be able to find us," Kurt said firmly.

"No," Artie said, side-eyeing Kurt. "It means the Cylons won't be able to use DRADIS to find us. If they're really determined to do it, there are other ways they could find us."

"But the odds of them finding us by a manual search are really low," Sam said.

"And yet, they somehow keep doing it," Quinn said, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah. With a DRADIS." Sam glared at Quinn.

"That's what we assume. We have no idea what other technology they might be hiding."

Rachel listened to the argument, watching each person speak in turn. The planet was all anyone could talk about since it had been discovered. And it was lovely, Rachel was sure of that, but right now she had other things on her mind.

"They really went on a mission?" she asked Santana yet again. Everyone else at the table groaned, and Santana sighed and dropped her head back.

"Yes," she said. "It was a volunteer-only mission, and both Finn and Puck volunteered, okay? I've told you that, like, four times. They're _insane._" She leaned her head on Brittany's shoulder. "Asking another million times isn't going to change the fact that they're both morons. And Finn came over and said goodbye to you, so don't get so start with the wounded widow nonsense."

"Where did they go, anyway?" Mike asked. "Are they taking on the Cylons?"

Mercedes and Santana exchanged uneasy glances, and Rachel was sure they knew _exactly_ where Puck and Finn were. It was too bad they couldn't tell her- it would be an exclusive that would surely blow Playa Palacois out of the water and land Rachel a spot on the news during a time when people were actually awake enough to watch. Something _real_, not just little fluff pieces. She could just see herself interviewing Santana, getting Santana to explain that Finn and Puck and the others went to the Cylon home world to blast them to pieces, or were on a top-secret, highly dangerous mission to… to… Rachel really wasn't sure. What _would_ they be doing that would be so dangerous and yet Santana would refuse to go? It was a mystery.

She was so distracted by her own thoughts that she hadn't realized that the conversation had shifted back to the planet and the upcoming election. "I can't believe you'd even think of voting for Roslin!" Tina was saying to Artie. "You _know_ she'll continue to outlaw abortion, and I'd think that you, an agnostic-"

"Just because I'm voting for her doesn't mean I agree with everything she does," Artie told Tina. "But I just don't believe the Cylons aren't going to find this planet if they decide to look for it."

"But Gaius Baltar is a _scientist_," Tina said. "He designed the Colonial Defense System. He would _know_ if the Cylons were really likely to be a threat! And I just want _off_ this ship! I don't want to have a baby on a spaceship!" Mike squeezed her shoulder sympathetically.

"You'd have more medical resources on a spaceship than an uninhabited planet," Quinn said coolly.

"Only if you think the first thing built wouldn't be a hospital," Kurt put in. "Which, if elected, is exactly what Baltar would do."

"Then he's an idiot," Artie said. "The first thing you need on any new colony is potable water. The first thing built should be a water treatment plant."

"Oh. Well. Good thing I'm not the one planning the city," Kurt said. He laughed airily, and Artie made a face. Kurt caught Rachel looking at him and scooted over, patting the bunk beside him. Rachel took the seat beside him as the conversation veered into the others arguing about how a settlement should develop.

"I talked to Tom," Kurt said.

"And?" Rachel moved to the edge of the seat. "When can we start?"

"He wants to talk to you."

That took Rachel by surprise. "For an interview? I would be absolutely honored, but-"

"No. It's not an interview," Kurt said. "He just wants to talk to you."

"About what?" Rachel asked as the conversation ramped into an argument over sewers and if creatures found their own way in or if that story about the alligator in the Lima sewer was just a myth. "If he doesn't want to do an interview-"

"I didn't say that," Kurt said enigmatically. "Just… tomorrow, first thing. Come over to the _Astral Queen_ with me."

The _Astral Queen_. Rachel shivered with a pleasurable sort of fear and _naughtiness_ that the name evoked. "All right," she said. "Tomorrow morning, then." She kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you."

Kurt shrugged. "You're welcome."

***

The _Astral Queen_ wasn't quite what Rachel pictured. For the most part, the cells no longer looked like cells, but almost like small apartments. But what really struck Rachel was the optimistic, excited feeling among the ships' residents. The wirelesses and televisions were all tuned to election coverage, and there were even campaign posters hanging, the majority of which were for Baltar.

Kurt led her to a conference room. The room was rather stark, but there was a pitcher of water on the table, two glasses, and a small plate of artistically arranged crackers and cheese. Tom Zarek rose when Rachel walked into the room, smiling genially. "Thank you, Kurt."

Kurt nodded. "Mr. Zarek. Rachel." He left the room, shutting the door behind him. Rachel watched him go, panicked. No one had said this meeting was just her and Zarek.

"Miss Berry," he said, smiling at her. "Please. Have a seat."

Rachel took a deep breath. Kurt had been working for Zarek for months and had only seemed to be getting happier. Zarek wasn't going to stab her and hide the body somewhere on the _Astral Queen_, she told herself firmly. "Thank you for meeting with me," she began. "I know that your time is very valuable, but I think that this arrangement could benefit the both of us."

The corners of Zarek's eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. "Slow down, Rachel," he said, sounding like a kind old uncle, and pouring her a glass of water. "Please. Help yourself."

Rachel took a cracker to be polite, but didn't eat it. "Thank you."

"I really enjoy your work, you know."

"You've seen it?" Rachel asked skeptically. "It's on in the middle of the night."

"I've seen it. You're actually quite popular on the _Astral Queen._" Rachel looked down at her skirt and wondered exactly _why_ she might be popular on a ship of male prisoners.

"I'm surprised," she said primly. "All the stories I'm given are fluff pieces."

"And that's exactly why you're popular here," Zarek said smoothly. "These men have not had much to smile about in the past decade or two, or even longer. Your stories offer light and hope. I suspect they do to others in the Fleet as well, especially since you sing with your group."

"Which is why I'm always on during the dead times," Rachel said bitterly.

"But you've been moving closer to better time slots. And with the right story, you could find yourself rocketed into a much better position."

"Right. The right story." Rachel straightened up. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I know that you yourself will be interviewing with the Colonial Gang and Ms. Biers and some of the others, but I wanted to ask permission to interview Kurt. I know he's just an aide but-"

"But no one should underestimate just how much aides know," Zarek finished for her. "I agree completely. I also think that an interview between you two would appeal to the younger population of the Fleet. Couple that with the light and hope aspect that I mentioned, and between the two of you, you could paint a very, very positive picture of the future of the Baltar administration."

"But I-"

"Here." Zarek handed her a packet of papers.

"What's this?" Rachel scanned the first page.

"A list of questions for the interview, as well as an idea of what Kurt's answers will be like."

"I… No, Mr. Zarek, you misunderstand me. I wanted to interview Kurt."

"And I'm giving my clearance, as long as you stick to these questions."

"But that's not an interview! That's a propaganda piece!"

"It's an election, Rachel. What do you think I'm looking for?"

"But the people need incisive and candid questions that allow them to make an informed decision! Not just some regurgitated campaign promises!"

Zarek looked amused. "I take it you've never watched a campaign before. This will give voters our side, Rachel. No matter what you ask, Kurt is going to be answering as a representative of the Baltar campaign. That's why you're interviewing him."

"No, I'm interviewing him in order to show Mr. Ishinhall what I can do! That I can be a serious journalist! This is my chance to move up from fluff pieces to real stories, and I can't compromise that by using pre-written questions and not asking the hard ones!"

"I see." Zarek sat back, templing his fingers and looking over the tips at her, studying her.

"D'Anna Biers told me that when a subject can't answer the question, that's just as telling as when they can," Rachel continued. "So I can't just ask Kurt a bunch of questions that you put together. That doesn't prove that I can do anything!"

"You do realize this is a fairly standard practice, and that even if Ishinhall realizes that the questions are pre-arranged, he won't be objecting to it?"

"With all due respect, Mr. Zarek, you're wrong," Rachel said flatly. She pushed the packet back to him. "I'm sorry. I can't do this." Suddenly she remembered who she was talking to and cringed. "You're not going to kill me, are you?"

"No." Zarek looked very tired. "This was a mutual opportunity for us both, not a threat. But let me break it down for you, Rachel. If you say no, that's fine. You'll go back to the _Cybele_ and your job and do the stories you do, and I'll find someone else to do this story. Because you are right- having a young face on this campaign will help us appeal to the younger population of the Fleet, and we're at the point where every little bit helps. So the story _will_ be done, whether it's by you or someone else. You only have to deal with the knowledge that turning this down leads to an opportunity for someone else."

The idea of someone else getting the story would have killed her if Mr. Ishinhall hadn't accused her of asking questions that were too facile and juvenile. This was not a story that would impress him. Rachel stood up. "I'm sorry, Mr. Zarek," she said stiffly, "but I just don't think this would showcase my talents."

"I'm sorry, too," Zarek said, standing and extending his hand to her. "It could have been a great opportunity for you."

As Rachel shook his hand, a thought occurred to her. "Would _you_ have done it?" she asked. "After all, you refused to apologize for what you did on Sagittaron."

Instead of laughing, he considered her question seriously. "I never wanted to be a journalist," he finally said. "You do. You're making a mistake."

"I don't think so," Rachel said, feeling more confident. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Zarek, but I'll find my own story."

"Good luck with that."

***

"They gave the story to Amber Calhoun! Amber Calhoun!" Rachel repeated, as if that would help Mr. Schuester understand the gravity of the situation. "And do you know what happened next?

"No." Mr. Schuester looked down at the stack of papers he was grading and sighed. He looked tired and strained, but then, so did everybody. "What happened next?"

"She got the story on the next Presidential debate! Mr. Ishinhall wants _her_ to cover the story on the general reaction to the candidates' stance on defense!"

Mr. Schuester blinked at her. "You don't know the first thing about defense."

"You don't have to in order to ask questions! That's the _point_! Making the issues accessible to the general public!"

"Which you can't do unless you understand what the issues are. Not that it seems to matter." He tossed his pen onto the stack of papers. "The public doesn't understand it either."

"What are those, anyway?" Rachel asked.

"Essays from my Colonial History class over on the _Monarch_," he explained. "It's amazing. Do you know just how many of them think that the Cimtar Peace Accord was signed to end battles with curved blades? It ended the Cylon War! You'd think that more kids would get that!"

"Well, you're an excellent teacher," Rachel said, because she supposed she should encourage him. She patted his hand. "I'm sure they'll understand after you explain it."

"No, what they understand is the world is ending, and it's just one more excuse not to do homework," Mr. Schuester sighed. "The worst part of it is, they need this knowledge more than ever. So many of these kids are voting age, and I'm afraid they don't understand the first thing about how our government works. What they need is someone to make it _fun_, to really make it _exciting_." He sighed. "If we were back on Gemenon, I'd say we should cover it in Glee club, but I'm afraid I don't know many songs about how the government works." He laughed a little, but Rachel straightened up.

"I have to go."

"Rachel?"

"It was wonderful talking with you, Mr. Schue, and I'm sure you'll be able to impart the gift of knowledge to a deserving younger generation. But you've just given me a _brilliant_ idea."

"Ah, Rachel-"

But Rachel was off. This was the best idea _ever_.

***

"Wait, you want us to write and perform our own songs before Election Day?" Artie said. "That's crazy!"

"It's not," Rachel said excitedly. "We wrote 'Light Up the World' and 'Pretending' right before Nationals. We work best under pressure."

"Yeah, but there's working best under pressure and then there's pure insanity," Artie said. "There's no way you can get it all done before the elections happen."

"The elections are still seven days away," Rachel said. "And I'm not doing it alone."

***

Rachel couldn't get all of New Directions corralled into their room on the _Cybele_, but she corralled a lot of them and locked the door. Although there was grumbling about the idea of writing _Presidential Elections- The Musical!_, Rachel also noticed that songs were getting written. Rather than writing music, they opted to take popular songs and change the words, which might not have the artistic integrity that composing their own tunes would have, but was definitely a lot quicker. There were just… issues.

Sam strummed the guitar, playing the opening chords of "Baby," as Brittany took the floor to sing.

"_We're on a spaceship, recycled air  
We're chased by Cylons, death and despair  
We have no sky, we have no sun,  
The situation is anything except fun._

And now I'm pregnant, Boy, we can't deal  
It's all too much, it can't be real.  
But there's an answer and as hard as it is  
It's what is best for us so we did this.

Cause I was like baby, baby, baby, _no_  
Like baby, baby, baby, NO,  
Like baby, baby, baby, _no_  
The choice should always be mine."

Sam put the guitar down with a furious sort of expression. "Tina's working on the second verse."

"Oh, my Gods," Quinn said, cradling her forehead in her hands.

"You are _not_ singing a song about abortion to 'Baby'," Mercedes added.

"No! It's perfect!" Rachel said. "Abortion is a hot issue in this election. It's where Baltar first opposed President Roslin, and it's one of the more divisive issues. Besides, Tina is writing and Sam is playing from the heart."

"Yeah, and can you stop saying that? It's not exactly something I want to be doing," Sam said crossly.

"So don't," Mercedes said. "It's like, way offensive, and not because I don't believe in abortion."

"We could work up a back-up dance," Brittany suggested.

"No." The answer was unanimous from everyone in the room.

"The thing is," Mike said, "there's really only three big issues. There's abortion, Roslin's religion, and the planet. Other than that, there aren't a lot of issues to talk about. Baltar doesn't differ from Roslin on much else."

"Yeah," Artie said. "It's not like there's much of an economy, and the Admiral decides what the military does."

"We ought to have a song about the Admiral," Quinn said. "Because a President that doesn't work well with the Admiral isn't going to be an effective President at all." She tapped her pen against her pursed lips.

"We could go musical with that one," Rachel said. "Maybe take 'You're the One That I Want'" and write it from Admiral Adama's point of view?"

"Only if you have a pro-Baltar song to balance it out," Sam put in quickly. "If you're using 'Life Is a Fertilized Egg' - which doesn't even _fit_ with 'Life is a Highway', by the way- to go against 'Baby, No', then you've got to have a song about how Baltar would do with the military."

"Like what?" Santana asked sarcastically. "The Old Man can't stand Baltar."

"'I Hate Everything About You'," Artie suggested.

"'Give You Hell' could work," Mercedes said.

"My Imaginary Friend," Brittany piped up.

"Or…" Quinn's eyes lit up with a maniacal gleam as she ignored Brittany, "we need to think a little more… country." She looked at Sam. "'You Belong to Me.'"

Sam rolled his eyes, but obediently started playing the intro to the song.

"_You're on the phone with Ms. Roslin, the President  
She's going on about political precedent,  
She doesn't get your weapons like I do.  
I'm in the lab on the __Galactica_ battlestar  
I'm thinking about the how she pushes you oh-so-far  
And she'll never give you 'freedom' like I do.

But she gives keynotes, I wear lab coats  
She's the incumbent and I screwed her over  
I'm dreamin' bout the day you all wake up and find  
The way to screw us over was here all the time.

If you could see that I'm the one that'll patronize you  
Dismiss, reject, and try to colonize you  
You should vote for me,  
You should vote for me

Sleeping here in my seat up in the Quorum  
Bored to death in any political forum  
You should-"

"Enough!" Sam shouted, pushing his guitar away. "That's not a pro-Baltar song!"

"Well, the Admiral has made his support for the President clear," Quinn said, "to the point where he escorts her to the debates!"

"Guys, chill," Mercedes put in. "Save it for the songs."

"Or not," Rachel said. "The whole point of this exercise is to _explain_ the positions, not espouse them." She turned to Quinn. "As cutting and clever as your song is, it's not _informative._ The first rule of reporting is that you need to be distanced from your subject matter."

"Like you follow that," Quinn snapped. "You cried during your story on pets in the Fleet."

"That's not fair to Rachel," Mike said. "If you didn't cry looking at those kittens, you just don't have a heart." Artie nodded.

Quinn sighed impatiently. "My point is, this isn't reporting. This is, essentially, a musical debate. There's nothing wrong with presenting a candidate in a negative light. I know that at least two people have completely lost their senses," she glared at Sam and Tina, "but I think it's clear that President Roslin is the best leader for this Fleet."

"It's not clear," Tina said. "Especially with the planet involved. That's really the game changer, isn't it? Do we want to settle on the planet or continue looking for Earth?"

"Which is why," Rachel said, seizing the opportunity to get things back on track, "I think the planet should be the center of our debate with my song 'Damnit, Planet, What to Do?' It's a song that is perfectly balanced between both sides, delving into both reasons that we should settle on the planet and reasons that we should not." She began handing the lyrics out. "We should start rehearsing now."

Mercedes raised her eyebrows as she read the lyrics, and Sam immediately started working out the chords for "Damnit, Janet" on his guitar. Even Quinn sighed, muttering something about 'damn talent.' Rachel smiled. As much as they were bickering, this was all going to go perfectly.

***

"Well?" Rachel asked, as Mr. Ishinhall clicked off the video. "What do you think?"

"It's impressive," Mr. Ishinhall said, laughing. "You guys really did all of this in forty-eight hours?" Rachel nodded, and he let out a low whistle. "It really is a shame that we never got the whole group together for that show. I don't suppose there's any way you could convince them?"

Rachel's heart twisted, but she clamped down on her pain. "No," she said. "Four of them are in the military and Kurt is working for Zarek and Quinn is learning to be a doctor-"

"I figured. Well, we'll definitely be showing this, Rachel. Aside from doing a good job explaining the candidates' positions, it's really quite catchy and clever. I rather expect the adults of the Fleet will be entertained by it as well.

Rachel brightened. "So I can have some more serious stories now?" she asked, sitting up straighter.

The smile leeched off of Mr. Ishinhall's face. "Rachel," he said seriously, "you're a talented girl. Extremely talented. I knew about your singing, but I didn't know about the writing until just now. If the Cylons had never attacked the Colonies, I have no doubt that I would have been seeing you opening on stage at some point in my life."

Rachel brightened. This could only be good news.

"But reporting… reporting is different. It's not performing. The reporter is the vessel for the story, and the story needs to take the center stage. That's something you have yet to be able to do. Your personality is stamped on every story."

"But all the greatest reporters were like that!" Rachel protested.

"No, all the greatest news personalities were like that. There's a difference. And what I need is someone who can report the issues, who can uncover the truth and bring the people of the Fleet the _story_, not their version of the story, and how the story affects them."

"But-"

"Look. Rachel. Right now, we have the elections, and these elections have the potential to change everything. I can't tell you what the immediate future of television even is right now, because so much depends on whether or not we settle on this planet. You obviously have talent, but it's not a talent we can capitalize on right now."

"But-"

"I can still use you in the capacity I've been using you, and I will certainly run this segment. But until I see more serious, more impartial work from you, I'm sorry, but the big stories will keep going to those who can handle them."

"I see," Rachel said, trying to keep her dignity about her. She stood up, smoothing her skirt. "Well, then, Mr. Ishinhall, I think I shall take my leave."

Mr. Ishinhall remained sitting, looking up at her from under lowered brows. "Let me guess. You're storming out again?"

"Of course."

He handed her a stack of papers. "Take this to the editing room on your way, will you?"

Rachel snatched the papers from him, tossed her hair over her shoulder, put her nose in the air and turned on her heel, getting her skirt to flare out perfectly as she did so. Her storm-out was an absolute work of art, although even she had to admit it probably didn't make her top ten storm-outs ever.

The back halls of _Cloud 9_ were not a particularly good place for sulking. There were no convenient little cubbies or benches where you could be mostly hidden, but found if the right person wandered by. Not that the right person was around anyway. Any of the right people.

Rachel decided to take a detour and go to the gardens. It was the best part of being a reporter, getting to go in the synthetic garden under the lighted dome. Rachel had been in here enough that she could see the signs that this garden wasn't real- if you looked hard enough at the projected sky, you could see the seams, and there were cleverly concealed vents in the flower beds. But it was still better than anyplace else in the Fleet.

She wandered the paths, trying to pretend that Finn was with her. Things with Finn had been very… undefined since the attacks. Before the All-Colony Show Choir Championship, they'd known that their relationship was very likely on borrowed time since Rachel planned on trying to move to Caprica and Finn wanted to stay on Gemenon. Interplanetary relationships could work, of course, especially since Finn had been saving up the money Burt had been paying him from the garage for a holoband, which would make meeting up in a virtual sort of world a lot easier. But shortly after the attacks Finn had joined the military. They were still a couple- when Finn came over to the _Cybele_ they held hands and kissed and all that- but they didn't kick everyone out of the room like Mike and Tina or Brittany and Santana did. Rachel had assumed a lot of that had to do with the fact that Finn still had parents, both of whom subscribed to traditional Gemenese parental mores when it came to premarital sex.

Her own parents hadn't been so prudish, she thought. She missed her dads so much. She would give anything to be back on Gemenon, nestled against Daddy's shoulder watching a movie as Papa ruffled their hair and worked on his computer from the armchair, pretending he wasn't enjoying the fifty-seventh viewing of whatever musical they were watching. She couldn't smell their cologne anymore or feel her cheek against their sweaters, and that almost hurt more than the fact that they were gone.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice that she was on a collision course until someone put out their hand to stop her, and she looked up to see Playa Palacios. "Oh. You. Wonderful." Rachel heaved a sigh.

Playa looked at her with confusion. "Rachel Derry, right?"

"Berry." Playa didn't even know her _name_?

"Oh. Right. What are you doing here, Rachel? I thought you'd be prepping for the debates."

"Why aren't you?" Rachel asked.

Playa shrugged. "I just finished interviewing Zarek. The gardens make such a nice backdrop for an interview. I think when I interview the Vice President we'll have to come here, instead of in his lab like he's been asking for. Don't you think?"

"Don't I think?" Rachel repeated incredulously. "Why would you care what I think?"

Playa peered more closely at Rachel's face. "Are you all right?"

"Why would you care? Not that it's any of your business," Rachel added hastily. "It's just been a very long day and I had a very disappointing meeting with Mr. Ishinhall, who still refuses to recognize my talent, and I just realized I have no idea if my boyfriend is still actually my boyfriend and-"

Playa put a hand on Rachel's shoulder. "Come have a drink with me," she said, and before Rachel could argue, Playa was steering her commandingly out of the gardens.

She didn't lead them to the Starlight Lounge, but rather to a place that Rachel had been once before. It was designed to look like an old-fashioned diner, with booths and a long bar. Playa steered her to the bar and caught the eye of the woman behind it. "Two hot chocolates," she said.

Rachel didn't protest. The vegan thing had had to go a long time ago. Playa waited until the hot chocolates- synthetic as they were- came before she spoke again. "I take it you've had a very bad day."

"I don't know why you care," Rachel said, trying not to sniffle. "After all, I'm your competition."

"Mmm." Playa took a sip of her hot chocolate. "I miss real milk," she said. "The dehydrated stuff just is not the same." Rachel just shrugged. "Were you going to study journalism in college?"

"No," Rachel said. "I was accepted in the CADA program."

"The Caprica Academy of Dramatic Arts? They only take about twenty students a year." Rachel nodded gloomily, and Playa let out a low whistle. "I had no idea."

"Well, I do sing and act."

"I knew that. But to get into CADA…. My first assignment was writing about the theater scene on Caprica," Playa explained. "I'm familiar with the program through that. Why aren't you with any of the shows on the networks?"

"I tried," Rachel said. "But there are only a few and I wasn't what they were looking for."

"Ah."

"I keep telling myself that someday there will be more of an opportunity. That there will be a better show or there will be theater on Earth or… or something. That this won't last forever, and I can take my proper place as a star."

"Why are you in journalism then?" Playa asked.

"It's the only way I can work on my presence," Rachel explained. "Granted, a camera is different- I would really prefer to perform in front of a live audience- but there aren't many options left. It's not that I don't want to work hard- I've been working hard for what I want since I was six months old. I will do anything it takes to make it, and if for the next few years that means doing news stories, that's what I'll do."

Playa took a long, thoughtful sip of her hot chocolate. "You might regret that. I wanted to reach the top, too, but not like this."

Rachel cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that before the attacks, I was doing your job- fluff pieces at two in the morning. I had my eye on this position, but I didn't really envision losing everything else to get it. If I could change it- even if it could just be that my family was in this Fleet- I would. But you were traveling with your parents, right?"

"I… er… no," Rachel said, staring down at the counter. "My dads were back on Gemenon."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Rachel shrugged, pushing the thought away. "No. I mean, losing my parents doesn't make me special. Everyone lost their parents, right? Well, most people- we have a whole family left in New Directions, but they're unusual. Everyone's going through that."

"That doesn't mean you don't have the right to feel anything about it," Playa said.

Rachel waved her off. "I feel. But I don't have an outlet to channel my pain. And it's too bad, really. This is _exactly_ the kind of pain that makes divas great."

Playa choked on her hot chocolate. "Sorry," she said, once she'd finished coughing and wiped her mouth. "Did you just say…never mind. I don't want to know."

"I know it sounds shocking," Rachel admitted, "but that's what you need to do to make it in show business. Everything has to be utilized. And right now, pain and loss are the common denominators across the Fleet. They resonate with people. So if I could find the right platform, I'd be set. Journalism could be that platform, you know. I could… reach out to people in their pain." Rachel gestured expressively. "But I can't _get_ anywhere."

"That's because you're treating journalism like show business, and it's not," Playa said. She took another sip of her drink. "There is a similarity in that you have to be ruthless. I won't even tell you some of the things I've done for a story. And presentation certainly matters. But content matters even more, and that's what you've been missing. It's also where I think you're expecting too much of yourself. You're _eighteen_, Rachel, and you've never studied journalism. You're not going to rocket to the top of the pack."

"I know," Rachel said, sighing. She finally picked up her own drink and sipped it, trying not to make a face at the synthetic taste.

"You'll get your chance someday, you know."

"At reporting?"

"At acting. If Baltar wins this election and we settle on this planet, a theater won't open right away, but eventually, it _will_ open. People need their escapism."

"You really think so?" Rachel asked, her heart lifting.

"I really think so," Playa said.

That was something she hadn't considered, but suddenly, Rachel could see it in her mind. It wouldn't be the big, grand theaters of Caprica, or even the theaters of Illumini, but it would be a building and a stage and real productions. It was the light at the end of the tunnel. _If_ Baltar won. But if Roslin won and the search for Earth continued, it was more of this life in spaceships, where entertainment and escapism were a low priority and all the glamour and camera time was dedicated to the news.

"We'll see," Rachel said, unwilling to hope.

"Well, I'd better get back to work," Playa said, pushing her mug back on the counter. "It was nice talking to you, Rachel."

"Yes. It was nice talking to you, too. Thank you for the hot chocolate." Playa smiled at her and patted her on the shoulder, and Rachel watched her leave. She might have a point about the planet, but Rachel was sure that she'd better keep all her options open. She didn't know if she could take another dream dying.

***

The Presidential debates raged on. Despite the success of _Presidential Elections – The Musical!_, (Mercedes gleefully confided that even _Colonel Tigh_ had been humming "Baby", which Rachel supposed was a lot funnier if you knew Colonel Tigh), Rachel's only story was on art projects of kids in the Fleet. Which was lovely, but not exactly hard-hitting journalism that would skyrocket her to a better position. And the polls were opening- they'd be open for two days, the perfect time to get optimum viewership as people made their decisions. All Rachel needed was the perfect story.

She got it.

The news came unexpectedly, when Brittany found her practicing her best "I hate to give such heartbreaking news" expression in the mirror. "Come on. Mercedes says we all need to get over to the _Galactica_ right now."

"Why?" A cold shaft of fear made her shiver. "Is it Finn?"

Brittany shrugged. "I don't know. But we should go. The shuttle will be here any minute."

_It's Finn. It's Finn._ Rachel was certain Finn was dead. They'd get off the shuttle and another pilot- it would be a pilot, right?- would approach, and he- or she- would have this terrible grim look on their face. And all of New Directions would be standing there together, Rachel clinging to- Tina? No. Quinn? No. Kurt? Yes, Kurt, especially since Kurt was Finn's brother- Kurt's hand. And Kurt would pull himself up with tears in his eyes, ready to hear the worst, and Rachel would shrink closer and then the pilot would say "I'm so sorry" and she _knew_ she'd never be able to hold back the tears.

She was planning what song she'd sing at Finn's funeral- she had it narrowed down to "My Heart Will go On" and "Unbreak My Heart"- when the shuttle docked in the _Galactica_. And there was Finn, standing on the deck, very much alive, wearing his flight suit and smiling at them. Puck was standing next to him, although Rachel barely recognized him under his flack gear. Standing next to him was a girl that looked extremely familiar. All three of them looked wet.

"Is it just me," Artie began, peering out the window at the people waiting on deck, "or does she look like…."

"I can't believe it," Quinn said scornfully, as the engine slowly shut off and the door began to open. "Puck really does have a type, doesn't he? She looks exactly like Zizes, if she'd lost forty pounds."

"Actually, she _is_ Lauren," Brittany said. "I can tell. You can see her green bra with the red polka dots through her t-shirt."

"What?" Artie asked.

Brittany shrugged. "We had gym together. Lauren always had the coolest bras."

"It's not Lauren, Brittany. Lauren's _dead_."

Rachel climbed off the shuttle, and before she could think about it anymore, Finn enveloped her in a huge hug and lifted off her feet. She squeaked, half laughing and half fighting it. "You're getting me all wet!" she said, but she really didn't care. Finn was there against her, alive and safe. Rachel leaned her head against the wet leather of his flight uniform for a moment.

"This might be a crazy question, but why are you guys wet?" Artie asked from behind her. "What's going on?

"You know, I think a guy with glasses as thick as yours would figure out that if you're going to pull people off an irradiated planet, you've got to put them through a decontamination shower," the girl said, and Rachel's mouth dropped open because it _was_ Lauren.

Tina squealed. "You're kidding me!" She started to move towards her to hug Lauren, but both Sam and Mike lunged for her and pulled her back.

"A decontamination shower doesn't get it all off!" Mike said.

"Yeah, you don't want to risk it," Sam said.

Lauren regarded them with annoyance. "What, do I have cooties?"

"No, but she's pregnant," Sam said. Lauren's eyes widened, but she was successfully distracted by Mike hugging her.

"That's where you were?" Rachel asked Puck as the others waited their turns to greet Lauren. "Gemenon?"

"Caprica. Remember? The wrestling team was there for a meet. We got Coach Beiste back, too," Finn said, smiling. Rachel bounced on her toes happily, but Finn's smile faded a little. "And Blaine."

"Blaine, too? That's incredible news! Kurt must be- wait? Why do you look so sad?" Rachel studied him. "Is something wrong?"

Finn nodded grimly. "He's sick, Rach. Real sick. He's in the infirmary right now. Kurt's with him."

"Oh, no." Rachel nuzzled closer to Finn. As she did, she caught sight of Tom Zarek over Finn's shoulder, watching the people milling around. He saw her watching, and to her surprise, he winked before he turned away to talk to someone else. Rachel shuddered.

"You okay?" Finn asked.

"Yeah. Yes," Rachel said, turning her attention back to Finn. "What about you? Are you all right?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine." Finn hugged her tight. "It just… it kind of freaks you out, you know? They were down there for nine months."

A horrible thought dawned on her. "Do you think- on Gemenon-"

"No. There couldn't be. No one's left alive on Gemenon, Rachel." But something about the closed expression on Finn's face made her think he was lying.

"But if there were all these people-"

"There were only twenty something," Finn said. "That's all that was left. Don't think about it," he said. "Please, Rachel, you don't know what it was like down there. Don't think about it."

"All right," Rachel said, more because Finn looked so disturbed than because she thought he was right.

"Come on," he said, steering her away from the deck. "I want to get out of this wet leather anyway."

"Where do you change?" Rachel asked.

She'd meant it at face value- she really had no idea what the soldiers' daily lives were like on the _Galactica_. But Finn blushed as he tugged her hand, and Rachel was suddenly very, very sure that all of Finn's reticence towards sex on the _Cybele_ had everything to do with his parents. Her heart lifted as she followed along, letting thoughts of Gemenon and survivors drift away from her mind in the face of being with Finn, and being grateful that he was alive.

***

The clock said 4:23 in the morning when someone knocked on the door of the New Directions' room. The swiftness with which Mr. Hummel answered the door only confirmed that he'd been awake, waiting for it. Rachel laid on her own bunk, chin on her folded hands, watching as the light from the corridor illuminated the lines of grief on his face as the bearer of bad news spoke quietly and urgently.

"Burt?" Mrs. H asked quietly as he shut the door slowly.

Coach Sylvester was up as well. "Curlicue," she said.

Mr. Hummel nodded. Mrs. H covered her mouth, but Coach Sylvester just looked sad. Like she'd been expecting it. Almost empty.

"Should we wake the kids up and tell them?" Mrs. H asked.

"Let 'em sleep," Coach Sylvester said. "Not like they can do anything."

"Sue!"

"No, she's right," Mr. Hummel said. He was getting dressed as he spoke. "The funeral isn't going to be right now, and the last thing that Kurt needs is everyone swarming him. Xu said that Finn's with him now, and Will and Coach Beiste and Lauren and Puck and Mercedes are all over there. They're sending a shuttle for me, but that's it."

"You don't think we should send any of the kids?" Carole asked.

"Send Schnoz over there," Coach Sylvester suggested, and Rachel automatically touched her own nose. "She's been awake the whole time."

Mr. Hummel turned around and looked up at her, and Rachel flushed. "Well, Kurt and I have been very close," she said defensively. "And I-"

"No need to explain," Mr. Hummel cut her off as he pulled on his shirt. "Get dressed. I want to get over there as soon as possible."

***

Kurt looked _terrible_. They'd taken Blaine's body to the morgue already when they arrived, but Kurt was still sitting beside the empty bed, staring at the stripped mattress. He was holding onto Finn's hand, with Mercedes at one shoulder. To Rachel's mild surprise, Mr. Zarek was there, too, sitting in a chair and the end of Blaine's bed, his forehead resting on his folded hands like he was thinking… or praying.

"You know, this is the second time he's had to deal with Blaine dying," Finn said when Burt had detached Kurt from his side and taken control. "You'd think I'd be a little bit better at knowing what to say this time around."

Rachel tried to smile, but it wouldn't come out. "You should get some sleep," was all she could say.

"I know. But I feel like I should stay here, you know?"

"His dad's here, Finn," Rachel said. "And Mercedes and me. Go sleep."

"But-"

Burt was listening. "Rachel's right, son," he said. "Last thing we need is for the Cylons to attack and for you to get yourself blown to bits."

Kurt shuddered back to life long enough to nod. "It's okay, Finn. Really."

Finn looked around doubtfully, then shrugged. "All right," he said, and backed away. Rachel could see his exhaustion in the slump of his shoulders and the slowness of his steps. She wished he could stay because Blaine dying and Kurt's face were the saddest things she could imagine, but even she could acknowledge that Finn needed sleep badly.

"Kurt…" she began tentatively, because staying silent seemed wrong. "Is there anything I can get you? Anything I can do?"

Kurt shook his head. His eyes and his nose were both red, and Rachel could tell he'd been crying hard. Not that she blamed him, of course. "Do you want to talk about what to sing at the funeral?" she began. "Because I have some…" the look Mercedes was giving her was fierce enough to make her trail off, and adding the horrified looks from Kurt and Mr. Hummel only made it worse. Even Mr. Zarek was staring at her. She stared at the bed, mortified.

"I'll get some coffee," Zarek finally said. "Rachel? Come help me?"

Startled, Rachel glanced at Mr. Hummel, who nodded approval. It seemed silly- she'd come to comfort _Kurt_, after all- but Kurt was barely looking at anyone and besides, coffee in a time of loss was almost tradition. She trailed after Zarek as he made his way over to the coffee station in the far corner of the infirmary.

"I can't believe it," Rachel said, looking back at the tableau by the bed. "I thought it was going to work out and he'd get better. It all seems like such a cruel joke."

"The gods don't always share our sense of humor," Zarek said bitterly. "I think everyone in this Fleet knows that." He set out a few mugs and began pouring coffee. "So how goes the reporting? I saw your piece on children's' artwork. Very… inspiring."

Rachel drew herself up. "I'll have you know, I've had plenty of opportunities since, all of which I've made myself."

"Yes, _Presidential Elections- The Musical!_ It was quite clever, I'll give you that. But what has that show gotten you, Rachel? A story on the debates? Interviews of the candidates? Hell, even interviews of various citizens to find out their opinions? Or have you been stuck with the mediocrity of stories about the fate of Fleet pets and the inspiring artwork of children?"

Rachel flushed. "I don't know why you insist on bringing that up," she shot back. "There's no reason you should even care."

"There wasn't. Now there is." Zarek pulled an envelope out of his jacket and handed it to Rachel. She opened it and took out a picture. It was Kurt and Blaine tearfully embracing. The photographer had caught the moment perfectly, and their joy at finding each other again was obvious- and heartbreaking, knowing how the story ended.

"What do you want with this?" Rachel asked.

"It's a story," Zarek said. "A story of what could have been, if this administration had gone back to Caprica earlier. Of what still could be, if we stopped at New Caprica, settled permanently, and then used our military resources to search the other planets for survivors."

_Search for survivors._ Something about that made Rachel's heart jump right into her throat. "Why are you telling me this?" Rachel asked.

"Because I need something. The polls are open, but this election is going to be close. We need a little more to put us over the top. This story- a story of love and betrayal under Roslin's administration- could do it. And I need you to run it. You know both Kurt and Blaine, and you're _here_."

"Kurt is my friend," Rachel said stiffly. "He would never-"

"Kurt won't care. He's too caught up in Blaine's death to know that the elections are even happening. He won't notice if he's a pawn in them."

He was right. Rachel swore silently to herself.

"Naturally," Zarek continued, "I don't expect you to do this out of the kindness of your heart. And I don't expect you to fall for the 'it will get you better stories' line of reasoning, either. Because if we don't win, we both know it won't."

"Then what will it get me?"

Zarek's gaze was even. "First question at the inaugural address. Should we take the coffee to the others?"

Rachel stared down at the picture in her hand, Zarek's eyes boring into her. First question. First question was a _huge_ deal. Mr. Ishinhall would have to acknowledge her and give her more stories if she had first question at the inaugural address.

She put the picture back in the envelope and tucked it under her arm, and then picked up two cups of coffee. "Shall we go back?" she asked, feeling a little sick as the paper crinkled under her arm.

Zarek smiled at her with approval. "We shall."

***

The story practically wrote itself. In fact, two pilots and someone from Caprica contacted _her_ and asked to be interviewed, saying that Caprica was a story that needed to be heard. Rachel was certain that Zarek had told them to get in touch with her, but it didn't matter. They gave her exactly the story she needed.

It would have been better if she could have interviewed Kurt or Coach Beiste or Lauren, but there was no time. The polls were only open for a short time, and the story _had_ to get on early if it was going to have any effect at all. So she settled for what she could get, and even without the interviews, Rachel still had to admit it was a gut-wrenching and heartbreaking story. Definitely some of her best work ever.

New Directions wasn't as impressed. "Really, Rachel?" Quinn said as the piece wound to a close. "You _really_ think Kurt wanted that splashed across the Fleet?"

"Yeah, Blaine _just_ died," Artie said. "It hasn't even been twelve hours. The body's still warm."

"It's news," Rachel said defensively.

"The rescue is news," Tina agreed. "Blaine dying like that? That's not news."

"No, it is," Sam argued. "Especially that bit about Baltar wanting to go back to the Colonies to search for more survivors. Is that really true, Rachel?" Everyone looked at her.

"That's what my source said," Rachel said. "I can't imagine why it wouldn't be." _Survivors._ The word was still heavy on her tongue, twisting in her stomach. _There could be survivors on Gememon._ She couldn't let herself hope. Not after all this.

"Then why didn't Baltar say it in the debates?" Mike asked.

"Because he didn't know there _were_ survivors on Caprica," Sam said. "How can you promise to make a rescue if you don't know there are people down there?"

"You _really_ have it in for President Roslin, don't you?" Quinn demanded.

Sam snorted. "Do you blame me?"

"Yes," Quinn said angrily. "She gave your wife asylum."

"She made my wife into a political chess piece," Sam said, standing up.

"Hey! Break it up, okay?" Mike said, stepping between the two of them. "Neither of you are deciding this election on your own!"

It descended into an argument, like almost every conversation did these days. Rachel sighed. She understood that times were charged and everyone was on edge, but _still_. It was the best work she'd ever done, and no one seemed to notice that. And if they didn't, what were the chances that anyone else would, either?

Really, it was enough to make a person cry.

***

It took a lot of searching, but Rachel did finally find Coach Beiste over on the _Galactica_, in the weight room. She wasn't lifting, though. She was just sitting on the bench, staring into space.

"Coach Beiste?" Rachel walked in carefully. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Coach Beiste snapped back to the present. "Sure, darlin'. What is it?"

Encouraged by the warm reply, Rachel sat down on the bench next to her. "I just wanted to say how sorry I am about Blaine. I imagine you must have been very close to him, and as one of his friends from before, I certainly understand how devastating a loss it must be." Coach Beiste nodded, and Rachel rushed on. "I had some questions. About Caprica. Well, sort of about Caprica. More about Lima."

A shadow passed over Beiste's face. "I'll try to answer, but you probably know more than I do. All we know about the Colonies or the Fleet is what we've heard since we got on board."

"No, I know that," Rachel said. "It's just… so many of you survived. And for so long. Do you think… do you think it's really possible people could have survived on other planets?"

"Pretty sure they did." Beiste's face darkened further. "There were more people on Caprica, if you can call what they were going through surviving."

"Prisoners of war?" Rachel asked, horrified.

"You could say that," Beiste said, but she didn't elaborate. It didn't matter. Rachel rushed on.

"Well, do you think people could have survived in Lima? Do you think they could be down there right now, waiting for us to rescue them and just holding on? Do you think-" She cut off as Beiste put a hand on her shoulder.

"Pumpkin, I know you want to think that. I do. But there were a lot of things that had to go right for us to stay alive. We were right near a bomb shelter, for one. We were at a high elevation. Other people found us, and we were near hospitals so we could get anti-radiation meds. We had guns and ammo and people who figured out how to use them. We lost seventy people before you all pulled us out of there, and if you hadn't come along when you did, we would have lost even more. There might be survivors on the other planets, but you've gotta know that chances are, there aren't a whole lot of them."

"But _you_ survived," Rachel said, tearing up. "And Lima-"

"Lima is right near a few big cities. It's near sea level."

"But it's _possible_," Rachel insisted.

"It's possible," Beiste admitted. "But it's not likely."

"Still. _Possible_. I mean, we got you, Lauren, _and_ Blaine back," Rachel said. "Miracles _do_ happen. You're living proof. Well, mostly."

"It sure is nice to think about. I just don't think it happened."

"That's okay. Thank you, Coach Beiste," Rachel said, jumping up. "I just needed to know."

"Rachel-"

"No. It's _possible_. That's enough, right? It's enough to have some hope to go on? That maybe, just maybe, my dads-" she broke off, because even then the words _hurt_.

"Rachel…" Coach Beiste tried again. She looked sad and serious. Rachel looked away, backing towards the door.

"Thank you, Coach. I'm glad you're back, you know. It really is… it really brings New Directions a lot of hope. Thank you." Rachel fled before Coach Beiste could say any more.

Her dads could be alive. It was _possible_. That was all Rachel needed right now. She might have lost her dreams of the stage and the theater, but maybe, just maybe, there was something left from her old life after all.

***

The ballot was in front of her. Rachel knew all the facts, all the statistics, and if someone had asked her a week ago, she would have firmly said she was voting for President Roslin. President Roslin made _sense_. She was amazing, and she'd gotten them this far. Yes, she'd outlawed abortion, which Rachel did ethically disagree with, but at the same time, the decision was understandable in the light of the number of people left. And it was the _only_ previous decision Rachel didn't agree with. President Roslin had a good working relationship with Admiral Adama, she valued education, she had experience, and she kept the Fleet going.

But if they landed on New Caprica, if they settled….

If they settled, life could go back to normal. In time, of course, and not like it was. But _normal._ There would be a city. There would be more than just running. There would be _culture_ again, and _theater._

There would be a theater.

And then there were survivors. If they landed on New Caprica and used that as a base, they'd go back to search for survivors. Rationally, Rachel knew there couldn't be many. Not really. They'd pulled less than thirty people off of Caprica. But what if…?

What ifs were only hopes- there was no guarantee. Rachel knew that. Baltar couldn't be sure her dads were alive, and if they were dead, he couldn't bring them back. Even if they were alive, maybe they'd never find them. But Rachel knew better than anyone that hope was one of the most powerful things in the universe.

She checked "Baltar" on the ballot and put it in the box.

***

"You're wanted," Mr. Ishanhall told her over the wireless.

"Excuse me?"

"The polls are coming to a close, and we're starting to cover reactions. I'm sending contingents to _Colonial One_ and the _Astral Queen_. Get over to the _Astral Queen._"

Rachel brightened. "Mr. Ishinhall, I assure you, I will continue to do an outstanding job," she said. "I'm so glad that the piece on Kurt and Blaine that I did impressed you."

"It didn't," he said shortly. "It was pure propaganda, and if Baltar sends people back to the Colonies to search for survivors or gets Adama to agree to do it I'll eat my hat. But it impressed Zarek, and he asked for you."

"Oh."

"You're not going alone," he warned her. "I'm sending a whole contingent."

"Oh, I know," Rachel said, still excited. This was still a step up, and if Zarek was pleased maybe he'd swing a few questions her way.

To her delight, Zarek approached her as soon as she walked in. "I'm ready," she said eagerly, wearing her best smile. "Mr. Zarek, I just want to say thank you so much for this opportunity. I know that you promised me first question at the inauguration, but to request me for this contingent is an honor. Not completely unexpected, of course, but an honor all the same."

Zarek looked at her queerly. "I didn't ask you here for that," he said.

"Excuse me? Wasn't the story what you wanted?"

"The story was exactly what I wanted," Zarek said, leading her through a crowd of people. "But tonight, my problem is Kurt."

Rachel's confusion deepened. "Kurt?"

"I need Kurt here," Zarek explained. "He's been working on the campaign from the start, and he has his own system for organizing things that I have yet to make heads or tails of. Besides, he deserves to be here when the win is announced. However, as I'm sure you're aware, he's not in the best mental state right now. I need someone to make sure he doesn't fall apart."

"But… but… why me?"

Zarek shrugged. "I did ask his brother first, but he has duty. And besides," Zarek's eyes pierced through her, "you owe him, after using his tragedy to further your career."

"But _you_ asked me to do the story!" Rachel protested, although his attempt to shame her into doing his bidding was definitely working.

"Yes I did. You're the one who said yes." Zarek clamped his arm firmly around her shoulder and half-guided, half-pushed her towards an office. "He's in here."

The office was small and cluttered with file cabinets, with a large desk on one wall and a small one on the other. The place was fairly neat, but Rachel quickly noticed that there were no pictures on the wall above the larger desk, and several above the smaller one, as well as two framed photos in the corner. Kurt was standing at a file cabinet, leafing through. He was dressed all in black, and when he looked up, his eyes and nose were tinged red. Looking at him, Rachel felt incredibly guilty about the story.

"Does he know about it?" she whispered to Zarek.

He shrugged. "I don't think he knows much of anything right now." He shoved her into the office, left, and closed the door.

"Hi, Kurt."

His brow furrowed. "What are you doing here?" He didn't sound angry when he asked. Just… half-dead. Zarek was right. If he knew about the story, he didn't care. Rachel brightened.

"Mr. Ishinhall sent me over to cover the results of the election as they come in, and Mr. Zarek thought that maybe you could help me."

"Really." It was sarcastic, but there was no heat in it. Kurt found the file he was looking for and shut the drawer. "More like he's afraid I'll flush myself out the airlock when he's not looking."

That made Rachel's heart lurch in panic. "Would you?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "No, although I can't deny it does have its appeal. However, the thought of my body hitting the windshield of another ship really does kill any romantic imagery such a scenario might have. Come on." He led her out of the office and into a conference room.

The crowd in the room was… interesting, to say the least. Rachel was glad that Kurt was there with her. Several of the men gathered still wore prison garb, although it was mixed with other clothes. Several members of the press were there, all bigger names, including Sekou Hamilton, which only served to emphasize that Rachel was there for another purpose altogether. The Aerelon and Leonis representatives to the Quorum of Twelve were there. The atmosphere was electric and exciting, and the numbers written on a chalkboard indicated exactly why. Baltar was ahead by over a thousand votes.

Baltar himself was standing in the corner, holding court. Rachel had seen him in person before, but for some reason it had never registered how _short_ he was. It was really pronounced when Kurt made his way over and stood a good two inches taller, the same height as Zarek. Kurt waited until Zarek and Baltar were done talking, then handed Zarek the file and whispered something in his ear. Zarek listened intently, nodded, and said a few words. It was kind of fascinating to watch, really, Rachel thought.

"Hey! Quiet! They're announcing the numbers again!" someone shouted, and turned the television in the corner up, where James McManus was following the results.

"But what we have so far is 6,282 more votes for Baltar, which puts his total now to 21,569. Is that-that correct? And we also have Roslin. Her total now is at 17,754. We've had 2,981 more votes come in for Roslin at this time."

A cheer went up through the room, drowning out McManus's voice. The other reporters were immediately in Baltar's face, but when Rachel started over there, Zarek frowned fiercely and she sighed, annoyed. The greatest story she'd ever had a chance at, and she was stuck babysitting her best friend, who obviously didn't need her. Kurt had been caught by the Aerelon representative and was nodding earnestly as the representative said something. Rachel felt completely useless. Even when she tried to talk to someone, she couldn't break into the conversation.

She was sitting in a corner just _waiting_ for something to happen when the TV got turned up again. The votes for Baltar were over twenty thousand now, and the excitement and energy were up again. Kurt came over and sat down beside her, and Rachel grumpily thought that he looked pretty perky for someone she was supposed to be propping up.

"Just a little while longer," Kurt said, crossing his legs and grabbing his knee. "It's looking really positive."

"Good," Rachel said. "Kurt? Can I ask you about something?" Kurt arched his eyebrows, and Rachel took a deep breath. "I know this is probably a painful subject for you right now because of Blaine," she began, and his smile slipped several notches, "but this plan of Baltar's to go back for the survivors on the planets-"

"What plan?" Kurt asked, his brows furrowed.

"The plan," Rachel said. "It was something Mr. Zarek told me when he asked me to do a story. That if Baltar won, he'd go back for the survivors."

"Oh."

"Oh? So you have heard about this?"

"I think so." Kurt frowned. "I was in the room, but I wasn't really listening, although I have to admit that they can be rather hard to shut out, even in the throes of grief."

"Well?" Rachel leaned into him. "So it's true?"

Kurt sighed heavily. "It's a strategy," he explained.

Rachel's blood froze. "What?"

"A strategy. After the Caprica rescue, the whole concept of survivors has to be addressed at some point," Kurt said with a shrug. "But it doesn't matter what the President wants, because ultimately, it's a military decision. So Baltar- or Roslin- can promise to go back and look, but in the end, it's Adama who has to do it. And if Adama says no, well then, how can you blame the President? It's all the Admiral's fault."

"But that… that's dishonest!" Rachel said. "It's horrible!"

Kurt shrugged. "It's politics."

"But I voted for Baltar because of that!" Rachel said. "I checked that ballot because… because I thought…." The tears were forming now. "They could still be alive, Kurt! We have to go back and see!"

Kurt closed his eyes and knocked his head back against the wall. "Rachel-" he began, but he was cut off by the buzz of the crowd and the TV being turned up again. Rachel automatically looked towards the TV, where James McManus was back on the screen, giving the latest results.

"Wow. Okay. 8,593 for Roslin, which puts her over the top. That's 24,265 for Laura Roslin. Is that correct? And 22,366 for Gaius Baltar. We're going to check these again because that has put her over the top. She-she has done it. She has retained the presidency in an improbable comeback in the final hours of the campaign."

Silence.

The silence didn't last long- it exploded into an incredulous, infuriated uproar. The press corps were rushing to get over to Baltar, ready for his reaction. But Baltar was in shock, staring at the television. And, if Rachel was seeing things right, a small smile was playing at one corner of his mouth. No, she couldn't be seeing things right.

She should be over there. She should be there with her microphone, shoving it in Baltar's face and elbowing the others out of the way. But she couldn't move, because if she did, the first thing she would ask him was why he promised to look for survivors when he knew he never could, and she didn't trust herself not to burst into tears or to rage at him before she got all the words out. She sat by Kurt, who was still sitting perfectly still, eyes closed. But his shoulders slumped even more, and Rachel thought that his nose was getting red again.

"Rachel. Stay." The order was barked to her as Zarek walked by. Rachel wanted to argue that she hadn't planned on going anywhere, but he was already gone.

A tear trickled down Kurt's cheek, and grateful that she could be useful, Rachel reached out and took his hand. "I'm sorry, Kurt," she said when she could speak. "I know you worked really hard on this and really wanted to-"

"I miss him so much."

"What?"

Kurt opened his eyes and looked at her. "I miss him so much already," he said, and Rachel knew him well enough to know this was a genuine break down. "I thought I had him back, and then he _died_ and it's like the first time all over again, but even worse. I can still feel his skin and his breath and his-"

Rachel didn't listen to the rest, because it was becoming more and more garbled and Kurt was losing it fast. She jumped to her feet, grabbed his arm and pulled him to standing, and then towed him into the office. She slammed the door just in time as Kurt sank into the seat at the small desk and just started _bawling._ Hard. Rachel couldn't blame him. She pulled Zarek's chair over and sat beside Kurt, rubbing his back as he cried.

Finally, the storm showed signs of letting up. Kurt produced a handkerchief from somewhere in his pockets and blew his nose. "I'm sorry," he said. "I guess I was just keeping it together for the election, and now that's over…."

"I completely understand," Rachel said. She patted his shoulder a little more. "It's a normal psychological response. I know that I-"

"Before you say another word, can I ask you- beg you- please. Just this once. Do not make this about you."

"I…" Rachel fell silent.

"Right." Kurt wiped at his nose. "Are you coming to the funeral?"

"Of course. What are you singing?"

Kurt cracked a tiny smile at the question. "'Blackbird.' He asked me to."

"Oh, Kurt…"

"I know." He sniffled. "It's tomorrow morning. The inauguration won't be until the afternoon, not that it matters much, but still…."

Rachel squeezed his hand. "I'll be there."

***

Zarek had said stay, so Rachel stayed. Eventually Kurt fell asleep, his head on his desk. It didn't look all that comfortable, but Rachel thought it was probably better to leave him where he was. Better than the way he was crying, anyway.

She was curled in Zarek's chair, halfway to dozing herself when the office door opened, and she started awake. Zarek stormed in, saw Kurt asleep at the desk, and immediately stopped. He gestured to Rachel to leave the room. Rachel did, but when she turned around, she saw that Zarek had brought a blanket out from somewhere and was spreading it over Kurt's shoulders.

"What are you doing?" Rachel hissed as Zarek closed the door.

He shrugged. "It can get cold in here. Come on. We need to talk."

She followed him down the hall and around a corner, but stopped when he opened a door. The room was small, with an unmade bed in the corner and a dresser against one wall and an armchair in a corner. "Don't you think this is a little inappropriate?" Rachel asked.

Zarek sighed. "Don't worry. I am many things, Rachel, but I am not a child molester. I like women, but I do have my limits. You're safe."

He looked tired. Tired and angry. Figuring that Kurt had been safe with him all this time, Rachel took a chance and stepped in. Zarek followed her and closed the door.

"Have a seat," he said, gesturing to the chair. He moved across the room and sat down on his bed. "There's been a recount."

"A recount?" Rachel's eyes widened. "What-"

"A recount." Zarek's mouth twisted on the word. "It turns out that there was a… mistake. Roslin didn't win the election. Baltar did."

"Oh. I… I didn't hear that."

"You and Kurt were in there for quite a while," Zarek said. "So, there will be an inauguration, and you have the first question."

"Yes," Rachel said, relieved that he remembered.

"I want it to be about the recount, and if Baltar thinks it was an honest mistake or if Roslin tried to steal the election."

"What? You can't tell me what the question is! That wasn't part of the agreement!"

Zarek's stare was level. "You don't _have_ to have the first question."

Rachel wanted to stomp her foot, but managed to refrain. She was at his mercy. "Why me?" she asked through gritted teeth. "Why don't you have someone else ask it? It's not like I was allowed near a microphone all night."

Zarek sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Because whoever asks this question will make an enemy of Roslin. That recount happened for a reason, and the election results changed because it _wasn't_ a mistake. Roslin tried to steal the election and someone caught her."

"But-"

"Gaius doesn't agree with that. He thinks Roslin is too noble." Zarek snorted at that. "She's not. She's a politician, and she's a damn good one. She does what she has to do to protect her interests, and she is not above stealing an election."

"But what good will asking Baltar-"

"_President_ Baltar. It won't do much good… at that moment. Instead, it will start laying the stage for the investigation. It will start people questioning and start the media machine running. It will start the long, arduous process of bringing the truth to light. The people deserve that truth, Rachel."

"Like they deserved the _truth_ of searching for survivors on the planets?" Rachel shot back.

Zarek sat back. "Check. But not checkmate. Because in the end, I know what you want. You want that first question. You need it if your career is going to take off. And so you're going to ask my question, and you're going to find that if you do so, you'll have other opportunities for questions. You'll be acknowledged at Presidential press conferences. Ishinhall will have no choice but to realize that you are popular with this administration, and he will respond by giving you better assignments. This doesn't just work in our favor, Rachel. It works in yours as well."

"I-"

"You had family, didn't you? Back on Gemenon? Family that you were hoping against all hope we would find?" Rachel nodded. "I don't blame you," Zarek continued. "I think everyone hoped that. Politics plays on people's hopes, Rachel. It's not just a game of power, it's a game of dreams. And I will push for Adama going back to the Colonies, at least to see what was there. We will make that effort. But we will fail."

"You don't know that!" Rachel snapped.

"I know it well enough. There were five billion people on Caprica, and we found thirty survivors. It would not have happened. Your mother and father-"

"My fathers."

"Your fathers are dead. I'm sorry. I'm terribly sorry. Believe me, I take no joy in saying that, and I realize we might have gotten your hopes up only to dash them. But the reality of the situation is that we are not going to find them."

Rachel looked down at her lap, where her fingers were twisting in the fabric of her skirt. "I know that," she admitted as tears burned in her eyes. "I guess I've always known it. But I want to believe so badly…."

Zarek came over and knelt down in front of her, taking her hands. "We all want to believe, Rachel. We all want that hope, that possibility that miracles can exist. And we can have it. But not from the Colonies, and not from any passed down myths and legends. We can have it on this planet. It's more than a refuge or a political move. It's a place to start over, to right the wrongs that humanity has committed against itself. That's what we envision. That's what we're building. Help us build that, Rachel. Help us bring justice, truth, and liberty to the Colonies once and for all."

Rachel nodded. "All right," she said. "I'll ask the question."

Zarek squeezed her hands. "Good girl. Now come on. Let's go wake Kurt up and send you two home."

***

Rachel stood with the others at Blaine's funeral, Finn's arm clamped firmly around her shoulders. She was grateful for it, because this was harder than she'd thought it would be.

The funeral was big. All of New Directions were there, of course, and all of the Caprican survivors, plus a few pilots and Zarek. That sort of surprised Rachel when she thought of how Zarek had used Kurt and Blaine in the last days of the campaign, but made a little more sense when she remembered him tucking the blanket over Kurt last night.

For all that there had been so many deaths, there hadn't been many funerals. There had been services after the attacks and Rachel had gone to them, but they had been so raw and everything had been so unbelievable that they hadn't felt _real_. During the services, all she could think of was the death of her dreams- how with the Colonies gone, everything she'd ever worked for was gone as well. And now, although it was Blaine's body under that white sheet, and Kurt singing and Blaine's name on everyone's lips, thoughts of her fathers came pouring over her and she couldn't stop crying.

"You okay?" Finn asked her afterwards, guiding her to a private little alcove.

Rachel tried to nod, but her head wouldn't work. Instead, the tears just came harder. Finn sighed and pulled her in, and she cried as hard as she could on his chest.

"You okay?" he asked again when she finally pulled away.

"Your uniform," Rachel said, wiping ineffectually at the wet stains on the front of Finn's dress grays. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Finn said. "Did you know they do our laundry here? It's pretty awesome." His smile faded. "You seem like that was pretty intense. I know you and Blaine got along."

"We did," Rachel said, wiping her eyes. "But it was more than that. I think… I think I just haven't been able to think about my dads all this time, and now…." Finn cocked his head in a gesture for her to continue. "I was over on the _Astral Queen_ for the elections," Rachel continued, wiping at her eyes. "And Kurt… he was okay, until they announced the winner. And then he just fell apart. Not because he thought President Baltar lost, but because the election had given him something else to think about besides Blaine and now it was all over."

"And… that's what it's like with you?" Finn asked.

Rachel nodded. "I've been so focused on my career and the news and journalism and the theater because as much as it hurts to lose that, it hurts so much less than my dads…" and there she went again, crying, back all over Finn's uniform.

Finn patted her gently until she calmed down again. "I wish I knew what to say," he said once she was done. "I kind of feel bad talking about it to anybody, because I still have my family. But I'm here for you."

"I know." Rachel sniffed. "And when we go down to the planet, maybe we can… we've been off and on for so long, Finn. Maybe we can get together for good."

"Yeah. That would be nice."

"You don't sound so sure about that," Rachel said.

Finn sighed heavily. "It's not you," he said. "I mean, there's no one else." Rachel looked at him, and Finn blushed. "You've got no idea what it's like over here, Rach. People have sex _all the time._ And yeah, I just don't… I don't want to. Not unless it's you." He touched her cheek gently. "So it's not because of you that I don't want to go down to the planet right now."

"Then what is it?"

"I saw your piece. The one about Kurt and Blaine."

Rachel cringed. "So you _are_ mad at me."

"Huh? Oh, no. I mean, I was, for a little bit, but Kurt doesn't seem to care so there's not much of a point, you know? Besides, it was good."

"It was?" Rachel asked, that familiar excitement at Finn's approval leaping up inside her.

"Yeah. And it got me excited, you know? Really excited. All that stuff about going back to the Colonies and finding survivors. I mean, I know it's not going to happen- the fuel alone makes it too hard to do. But bringing back Lauren and Coach and Blaine? Saving those people? It's the most important thing I've ever done in my life."

"It's not-"

"It _is_," Finn said. "You know, my whole life I didn't really get it. I knew my dad was a hero, but I didn't understand how he could do that to Mom and me. How he could go over there knowing he could die and leave us alone. But now I get it. I would risk anything to keep my family safe. I feel like when I wear this uniform, he's proud of me, you know?"

"He always would have been proud of you," Rachel said.

"But this is different. It's like… it's real, you know? I can _feel_ him. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm not leaving the military. I don't want to leave it. I like the military. It's where I belong."

"You belong with us," Rachel said, the tears welling in her eyes again. "You belong with _me_."

"Yeah, I know, and I do," Finn said. "But as long as the Fleet's here protecting you guys, I belong here more. It's not gonna be forever, and I can come down in my Raptor and everything." He gave her that little half-smile that she loved. "It's kind of like what we always planned anyway, right? Except instead of you going to Caprica and me staying in Lima, it's you going to the planet and me staying on the _Galactica_."

"But this wasn't your dream!" Rachel protested. "It never has been!"

"Yeah, but it is now. I didn't get it before because there wasn't anything to fight, you know? It was just people. But now, with the Cylons after us, there _is_. Those attacks? They changed everything, Rachel, and they changed me. This is what I want to do. No- this is what I _need_ to do."

She understood. She didn't want to, but of course she understood, because she had been born to do something special, too. But that hurt to say, so she just nodded.

"Come on," Finn said, pulling her close and out of their alcove. "It's all going to be okay. This is what we were going to do anyway, and it will be a lot easier for me to get down to the planet than it would have been for me to get to Caprica. If anything, we've got a _better_ chance of making it than we ever did before."

Rachel closed her eyes. It was true, she knew it. And a life with Finn was something that she'd always wanted. She just wished that it hadn't come at so high of a cost.

***

_Colonial One_ was crowded. Rachel was pushed off to the side, near a window, but at least she could actually _see_ because she'd been put near the front. She was sandwiched between the wall and Sekou Hamilton, and standing on her tiptoes. Her palms were sweating and she was more nervous than if this had been an opening night. Off to the side, she caught Kurt's eye as he stood next to Zarek. He gave her a little wink.

The priest was starting the inauguration. "If you'll raise your right hand and repeat after me. 'I, Gaius Baltar, do now avow and affirm….'"

Baltar looked incredibly serious and Presidential. "I, Gaius Baltar, do now avow and affirm…."

"'That I take the office of the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol without any moral reservation or mental evasion.…'"

Curious, Rachel leaned around to see if she could spot Roslin's face as Baltar repeated the oath. She was standing right in front, beside Admiral Adama, and Rachel could only see her in profile. But you didn't have to see her full face to know that she was _pissed_.

"That I will protect and defend the Articles of Colonization," Baltar was saying. Rachel snapped her attention back to the front. Mr. Ishinhall had not been thrilled with Zarek's insistence about Rachel's placement in the press corps, and he had given her a _very_ stern talking-to about the gravity of the situation. It had made her sort of glad that he didn't know she had the first question yet.

The ceremony came to a close with Baltar's resolute, "With every fiber of my being." The priest extended his hand in congratulations, and then Baltar turned towards the audience and gripped the podium.

"Thank you. I accept the role offered to me by the Colonies with humility and gratitude." Rachel joined the others in clapping. "And now... because it was the first will of the people, I'm going to sign my first executive order requiring the fleet to immediately establish settlements on the planet we have come to know as New Caprica. Admiral Adama. You have your orders."

This was it. They were going to call for questions. Rachel saw Zarek move towards the podium and rubbed her hands against her skirt, wishing her mouth wasn't so dry. Water. She really needed some water.

That was what she was thinking when _Colonial One_ was rocked onto its side.

The impact was sudden and terrifying. One moment, she was thinking about water, the next she was off her feet and falling, a scream tearing out of her throat involuntarily. The ship didn't go completely over, but the sounds of bodies thudding together under the screams were unmistakable. The ship righted, the lights flickering, and Rachel scrambled across the floor in a desperate attempt to escape. She grabbed a window and pulled herself up, only to see the fireworks of a diminishing explosion.

Admiral Adama was on his feet, striding to the window. He put his hand on Rachel's shoulder and moved her out of the way, and then swore.

"What happened?" Roslin asked, pulling herself to standing. Rachel noticed that Baltar was still clinging to his podium, looking for all the world like he was hiding behind it. Only his eyes and the top of his head could be seen.

"It's _Cloud 9_," Adama said. "It's been destroyed."

The room exploded into a chaos of questions, demands, pleas for help and microphones thrust into the faces of Baltar, Roslin, and Adama. Rachel knew she might still get first question, but that question would do her absolutely no good now, because there was only one she could ask. And when Zarek called on her, she heard her voice shaking, even as she asked the only question she could.

"President Baltar, how do you plan to respond to this incredibly tragic event?"

***

"So that's it?" Brittany asked two nights later, when New Directions was all crowded into their room. "They're just calling it a tragedy? They're not investigating it?"

"They're investigating," Kurt explained for the seventh time. "We're just not assuming that it was a Cylon attack. The Cylons can't find us in this nebula, and they found a warhead missing from the _Galactica._ There are lots of other groups that could have done this."

"Like those Demand Peace nutjobs," Puck suggested. "Or those people who wanted the Eight and held up the bar. Remember that?" he asked, nudging Artie.

"Just a bit, given that Billy died that night." Artie replied sarcastically. "I'm just glad I wasn't working over on _Cloud 9_ the other night."

Rachel bowed her head a bit at that. A _lot_ of people had been lost when _Cloud 9_ exploded, and she knew a lot of them. Not well, but Bob down in the editing room and Trina who did scripts, and the camera people… and Mr. Ishinhall. It was a terribly unworthy thought, but she couldn't help thinking she knew exactly how Dianna Soralos must have felt when she sang "Montage, Part 2: Nothing" in _Dance Line_. Fortunately, no one noticed her reaction, even Finn, who was sitting next to her.

"It's not a Cylon attack," Sam said, lounging on his bed with Rya. "If it was, they would have kept coming. But it's been two days and nothing."

"He's got a point," Rya said loyally, snuggling into the crook of Sam's arm.

"So what happens now?" Quinn asked, turning to Kurt.

"Settlement. In waves, of course, and it will take a while. But we're going down to the planet."

"I'm not," Santana said defiantly. "I'm staying on the _Pegasus_."

"Me, too," Mercedes said. "Well, on the _Galactica_. Until she stops flying." She looked defiantly at Kurt, who was definitely avoiding her eyes.

"Well, I'm looking forward to it," Tina said, her hands resting on her stomach. "I feel better about having this baby when he or she can actually see sky and hear birds someday. If nothing else, settling on this planet makes me feel like our family will have a home." Mike nodded his agreement, and the two of them kissed.

"Not to be a naysayer," Artie began, "but how long do you think some of us can stay on the ships, Kurt? I mean, there aren't exactly going to be wheelchair ramps and handicapped bathrooms down there."

"No, that's a good point," Kurt said. "I'll make a note of it and bring it up at the next settlement meeting." His voice was rich with self-satisfaction. "It's going to take time, of course. But this really is going to be a good thing. We'll be able to build up a civilization again. The first couple years will be tough, but after we get past them, other things will start happening."

"Food," Finn said. "Real food, not dehydrated stuff."

"Sunshine. Holy shit, when we were on Caprica, that was the thing that got me," Puck said.

"People might start writing books again," Rya said happily. "We'll be able to have entertainment."

"Dancing." Mike looked over at Brittany. "Maybe in a few years we can start a dance company."

"Music," Mercedes admitted. "It will be great when there are concerts again."

"And theater," Rachel said, sitting up. "We can build a theater, and people will come. It's going to be a long time before they can do the electronics for televisions or anything inside people's houses, but everyone can go out to a theater. It's going to happen."

"It is," Kurt said, smiling and lifting his chin, his eyes lighting up for the first time since Blaine had died. "Anything is possible on New Caprica."


	9. Down to the Ground

"You look ridiculous," Tom said as they stood in the landing bay, waiting for a Raptor.

Kurt looked down at his outfit, mildly offended. "I'm not ridiculous," he said. "This outfit was featured in _Caprican Style._ All right, so it was two years ago, but most of the Fleet is not overly discerning when it comes to high fashion."

"I'm certainly not. Explain it to me."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "The cut alone is worth noting. The pleats in the pants make them-"

"Never mind. I'm sorry I asked." Tom shoved his hands into his leather jacket. "We're going down to check out an uninhabited planet. You think really safari gear is a good idea?"

"It's not _actually_ safari gear," Kurt said. "It's just a motif. An interpretation, if you will. You know, if you would actually venture out of the world of gray suits and boring ties-"

"I could wear my prison jumpsuit again."

Kurt shuddered. "You really do know just what to say to repulse me, don't you? That orange is _not_ your color, and I don't ever want to see you near it again. At least you let me alter your suits so they _fit_ properly."

"That's different." Tom checked his watch. "Where the frak is Gaius?"

"I'm here." Kurt and Tom both turned around to see President Baltar approaching with another man in tow. Both of them were wearing military BDUs, which looked mildly ludicrous on Baltar and admittedly good on his companion. Kurt wasn't remotely in the market, but he did look at Baltar's friend with a certain interest. He was about the same height as Kurt, and he couldn't have been more than ten years older. He had dark, short hair, olive skin, and thick, dark eyebrows that rivaled Blaine's, although they were better groomed. That last observation was a sharp, painful reminder and Kurt looked away for a moment.

"Oh. Right." Baltar was remembering his manners. "Felix, I don't believe you've met Tom's aide de camp, Kurt Hummel." He turned to Kurt. "Mr. Gaeta will be joining our administration once his discharge from the military is finalized." Kurt nodded, surprised to find that there was a lump in his throat that he couldn't speak around. All over _eyebrows._

In the Raptor on the way down to the planet, Kurt was able to get his feelings back under control. It helped that he could hear Gaeta talking quietly to a couple of the Marines, and his voice and laughter sounded absolutely nothing like Blaine. Then the Raptor landed and Kurt was able to step out into sunshine, and he forgot about everything.

For the past nine months, life had been recycled air and fluorescent lights. Constant darkness and night outside the windows, the stale smell of people living in close quarters, and the sort of dryness that made the inside of his nose crack and his lips chap and destroyed his skin. Now he was down here on New Caprica, and for the first time in almost a year, fresh air flooded his lungs. A stiff breeze ruffled his hair and made him shiver, and when he stepped out of the Raptor, gravel and dried mud crunched beneath his boots.

"Welcome to New Caprica," Tom said.

***

There was grass under their feet. There were low mountains in the distance that looked stark and blue against the light. There was a river in front of them and a river behind them; Baltar had chosen a delta as a landing site. "What if it floods?" Kurt asked.

"It won't. You can see where the high water lines are," Gaeta said. He pointed in a general direction. "There have already been significant studies as to which area will be most habitable, and even the Admiral agrees that this delta looks the most promising."

"Yes, well, we must consider the opinion of the Admiral," Baltar said, making a sour sort of face. "But to answer your question, Kurt, we have done some preliminary geological and meteorological studies that indicate that a settlement here would be quite safe from flooding."

"Oh." The way they were all looking at him made Kurt feel like he should have known that. He shook it off and moved on, falling into step beside Gaeta as they walked over the rough grasses.

"So," Kurt said, when Gaeta didn't say anything. "You're the President's aide."

"Yes." Gaeta was scanning the horizon.

"What made you leave the world of drab military uniforms and testosterone for the slippery realm of politics?" Kurt asked, clasping his hands behind him as they walked.

"It was a good opportunity," Gaeta said shortly. "Gaius, have you seen any evidence of wildlife? The survey team said that there were quite a few animal species present." He picked up his speed so he joined Tom and Baltar, leaving Kurt behind.

Kurt was about to comment when the grass rustling caught his eye. He stopped for a minute, straining to see as the other three continued forward. It would make sense if there were woodchucks or groundhogs or other woodland creatures. He'd seen reports about some sort of big rodent type things that the ground crews had- The creature came into view, and Kurt screamed.

The other three whirled. "What? What is it?" Tom asked, hustling back, a gun in his hand. Kurt had had no idea he had a gun with him, and that only made him panic more.

"Right there," he said, pointing and backing up.

They peered into the grass, and Gaeta leaned down to examine it more closely. "It's a tarantula."

"YES!" Kurt said. "Exactly."

Gaeta rolled his eyes. "The survey team brought back several of these," he said, picking it up and letting it scamper over his hand. "I dissected one myself. They're harmless."

"They are big and hairy and disgusting, and on Gemenon if one bit you it… it…." Kurt found he was shaking. Tom looked amused, but Gaeta's exasperated expression hadn't changed. "It's a _tarantula_," was all he could manage to say to finish.

"Yes. Come on. Keep up, will you?" Tom asked. "We've got a lot to do." He put his gun back in his pocket and started walking. Gaeta put the tarantula back on the ground, which made Kurt squeak and tense up until the tarantula ran the other way, and then joined Tom.

"Are you all right?" Baltar asked Kurt.

Kurt took a deep breath. "Yes," he said. "It's rather embarrassing, really, but I really don't like spiders."

"I completely understand," Baltar said. "I am fine with the arachnid family, but if it had been a snake, I assure you that my reaction would have been quite similar. Maybe not so high-pitched, but I really can't stand the things."

It made Kurt feel a _lot_ better that someone else got it. "Thanks."

Baltar smiled at him. "I must say," he said, "I've been meaning to ask you about something for quite some time. Your taste in clothing is striking, and I have noticed that your clothing always exquisitely fitted."

"Thank you," Kurt said, immensely gratified that anyone had noticed. "I do all my own alterations."

"Really?" Baltar seemed impressed by that. "Can you do them for other people as well?" When Kurt nodded, he continued, "I simply cannot find a tailor in this Fleet that is up to the standards I have come to expect."

"Which is an absolute crime, I agree," Kurt said enthusiastically. "It's shameful, really. Just because the world has ended is no excuse for fashion to come to a standstill. Especially for someone like you."

"Yes! Finally. Someone understands the importance of the public face." Baltar patted him on the back. "I do see why Tom hired you, although I'm surprised you haven't gotten him out of those dull gray suits."

"Not for a lack of trying," Kurt sighed ruefully. "But I'm sure we can come up with something more striking and Presidential for you."

They worked until the sun started to set, bathing the sky with a soft pink glow. "Well?" Tom asked Kurt as they walked back to the Raptor. "What do you think?"

"Cold and gritty and tarantula-infested," Kurt said. Gaeta glared at him, but Tom only laughed and clapped Kurt on the shoulder.

"So fresh air, sunshine, ground under your feet, and sky over your head lose against tarantulas?"

"I never said that," Kurt said. "Believe me, New Caprica is perfect scarf weather. And there are few things I like more than a scarf."

"Finding those silver linings wherever you can, huh?" Tom teased. "Come on. Let's get back up. In a few weeks, we'll be down here for good."

***

Burt closed the box and ran tape across the top. "You ready for this?" he asked Carole, who was helping him pack up his workshop.

"No," she said sourly. "But it doesn't look like we have a choice." She was bagging nuts and bolts, labeling them with a thick black marker. "I still can't believe we're giving up on Earth."

"Yeah, well, that's what the President orders," Burt said with a shrug. He'd spent so much time trying to avoid the subject of politics he'd never really had a chance to decide who he preferred. Carole had been so ardently pro-Roslin and Kurt was obviously in the Baltar camp… Burt had really, really envied Finn hiding out on the _Galactica_. But they'd survived the election with Carole and Kurt still on speaking terms, and Burt was more than ready to put the whole thing behind them. After all, there wasn't much they could do about it now. "It's got its upsides," he pointed out. "Like that you won't be going over to the _Daru Mozu_ for four days at a time anymore."

Carole softened with a smile. "That's true. That right there is worth it. I know we won't have our family back under the same roof, but-"

"But Kurt will be down there, and Finn will visit," Burt finished for her. Funny about that, really. He'd always assumed it was Finn who would be staying close to home and Kurt who would be making those weekend pilgrimages. "It's like it would have been back on Gemenon."

"Mmm." Carole sat back on her heels. "Except we've got a whole host of other kids. Do you ever feel like we should just legally adopt them all?"

"They're all adults. It's not like we even really see much of Sam and Rya, and they are legally ours."

Carole raised an eyebrow. "I see them," she reminded him. "And I know they're adults. But they're all still so young."

Physically, maybe. Burt thought about Santana and Puck and Mercedes in their uniforms and Quinn and her infirmary and Rachel and her reporting and Artie hunched over the radio, people calling for him to come fix their communications. Lauren with her haunted eyes and long silences, because she'd seen more than any of them. Mike and Tina expecting a baby, Sam and Rya actually _married_, and hell, Kurt was practically a widower. It wasn't what Burt would have thought if Blaine had died on Gemenon, but yeah, as things stood, it was pretty much true. Even Finn, who had gotten off lighter than anyone in New Directions, had a new confidence when he came to the _Cybele_. They might all be young physically, but Burt didn't think they were so young in other ways anymore.

Carole either didn't notice his moody silence or knew better than to prod right now. "I think that's almost it," she said as she put the last baggie of bolts into a box and closed it up. "They'll take the work bench down without it being unassembled, right?"

"Right. That's what they said, anyway." Burt smiled. "Wonder how long it will be before I can actually set up a real shop. You know, with a building."

"A long time," Carole said dryly. "Are you sure you want to do this? You know they'd pay you well on the construction crews."

"I'm sure. And after all the trouble Kurt went through to get me a business permit, I'm not turning back now."

Carole searched his face one more time, then nodded. "I'll go start on our personal things, all right?" She leaned over and kissed Burt on the lips. "I'll see you in the room. Just think, tomorrow night we're going to be _alone_. We haven't had a night alone in ten months."

"That's right, and you'd better be prepared," Burt said, winking at her. He swatted her on the ass as she left the workshop, but as her laughter trailed down the hall, the smile leeched from his face and he sat down on one of the bigger boxes.

"Are you okay, Mr. H?" Brittany came in, bearing tape and a few more boxes.

"Yeah." Burt shook himself. "Yeah, I am."

Brittany handed him the tape. "Are you excited?" she asked. "About going down there?"

"I should be." Burt sighed. "I keep telling myself I am."

"I tell myself that, too," Brittany said. "But I'm not a very good listener." Burt chuckled at that, and Brittany looked around the workshop. "You didn't take the pictures down."

"Not yet. Thought I could use some help with that."

She smiled. Burt had gotten to the point where those smiles from Brittany had the same effect on his heart as smiles from Finn. Together, they started taking down the pictures.

There were a lot of them, when you got right down to it. Brittany had started it, finding pictures of cats. Then one day, a picture of New Directions showed up, taken at the Colonial Day performance. Burt managed to get a picture of himself, Carole, Finn, and Kurt and put that up, and that opened the floodgate. Any time a picture appeared of someone from New Directions, it found its way to the walls of Burt's workshop. Snapshots, newspaper clippings, even a sketch or two. These were their family.

"I wish we could take the door to our room, too," Brittany said as she took down a picture of her, Rachel, Mercedes, Tina, and Quinn all celebrating Santana's promotion to lieutenant. "It won't be home without that yellow door."

"Yeah," Burt said, looking at the picture he was holding of Will, Sue, and Shannon making faces. "I was thinking the same thing."

"We can put these up though, right? In the workshop on New Caprica?" Brittany said.

Burt smiled. "You'd better believe it. Come on. Let's finish this up."

***

Before her decommissioning, the _Galactica_ had been shunted off to non-combat missions. More specifically, her missions had been in the form of disaster relief. Which might not have been the most glamorous or exciting thing, but it _did_ mean that the _Galactica_ had a storage bay full of disaster relief pods. Tents, cots, supplies for making rudimentary bathrooms and group showers, generators, and other small necessities were brought down to New Caprica. Overnight, the settlement sprung up in neat, orderly rows.

The settlement was primitive by any standards, and Kurt was most definitely not fond of living in a tent, even if the tent was high enough that he could stand straight and large enough that he'd eventually get a roommate. The bathroom facilities didn't even bear thinking about. But where there was a settlement there was trade. Where there was trade, there was a _market_, which meant _shopping_.

"You need something that says _vice president_," Kurt said, eyeing the sales racks of castoffs critically. "Something that emphasizes rugged masculinity and authority. Something that says _aloof and dangerous_, but at the same time, _approachable._"

"No, I need something that says _warm and dry_," Tom said, shivering in the drizzle that had started. "I like my leather jacket, Kurt. Leave it alone."

Kurt made a face, but left the rack and fell into step beside Tom. "I wish you'd dress just a little better. You're a good-looking and powerful man. You should emphasize that. It's important."

"So you keep telling me. Believe me, I've gotten the message."

"You just choose to ignore it."

"Precisely."

They walked through the marketplace together. It wasn't much of a marketplace yet, of course. Right now, it was a wide row of tables and makeshift stalls. But in a few months, it would be more than that, and in a few years, there would be actual storefronts. Kurt shivered with excitement.

About a quarter of the Fleet's population was now on the ground. There were other shoppers, and people who just gathered there for conversation. Kurt noticed that several people were grouped together around someone who was selling coffee, clutching their warm cups as they shivered. Someday, that person could have a coffee shop and he and Blaine-

"You okay?" Tom asked. "You just went pale."

"I'm fine," Kurt said, waving it away. "I just saw that coat." He pointed to a man wearing a plaid monstrosity. "If you ever dress like that, I _will_ kill you."

Tom laughed, and the knot in Kurt's lungs and chest started to ease out again. By the time they made it to the other end of the market, Kurt was starting to feel normal. When he caught sight of President Baltar walking with Gaeta dogging his footsteps, he was sufficiently himself to notice that Gaeta was absolutely checking out Baltar when Baltar had his head turned.

Tom spotted them and lifted a hand in greeting. Kurt thought he'd go over to speak with them, but instead, Tom turned to one of the tables and began studying the pots that were on display. Kurt looked back at Baltar and Gaeta. Their heads were close together now, and Baltar's hand was on Gaeta's shoulder. Even from here, Kurt could see the way Gaeta's eyes lit up. He could understand the attraction- Baltar was a very intelligent, very good-looking man- but Kurt had seen several women in and out of his company. He was pretty sure that Baltar wasn't the commitment type.

Tom narrowed his eyes. "What are you whistling?"

"I was? It was just a song."

Tom followed his gaze back to where Baltar and Gaeta were standing. "Sing me the lyrics." When Kurt opened his mouth to protest, Tom fixed him with _that look_. "Kurt. Lyrics. _Now._"

With a sigh, Kurt sang the refrain of "Bad Romance." Tom listened, his face impassive except the corner of his mouth twitched up at one point. When Kurt finished, Tom sighed.

"Look," he said, rubbing his forehead with his knuckles, and gesturing for them to walk on. "It is a spectacularly bad idea for Gaius to have Gaeta as his aide, and it has every potential to be a complete disaster. It's obvious that Gaeta's in love with Gaius, and I'm pretty sure Gaius would frak a light socket if it got him off. But you keep out of it."

"I wasn't-"

"I'm warning you, Kurt. Keep out of it. Pretend it's not happening. I don't want you making snide comments or singing inappropriate lyrics or even so much as cracking a smirk around the two of them. Do your job and ignore it, so when it all blows up something in this government will still function. Remember, this is a step, all right? Our ultimate goal is the Presidency."

"Yes, sir," Kurt sighed. Trust Tom to take all the fun out of _everything_. "Hey, there's one more clothing vendor down here. Maybe we can find you a new jacket there."

Tom closed his eyes and groaned.

***

A tent wasn't Burt's first choice for a shop, especially since one of the pieces of equipment he had managed to get his hands on was a small acetylene torch for welding. Canvas was a lot more flammable than Burt liked, but that was the only option. Everything was canvas, at least for now, except for the water treatment facility and the power substation.

At the other end of the tent city, the construction crews would soon begin working on the first apartment complex. Burt had seriously considered joining the crews. There was no question he'd be useful. There might not be a lot of cars on New Caprica, but Burt could use tools and figure out systems, and in the past year of doing handyman work on the _Cybele_, he'd picked up a lot. The work would be constant, the pay might be better (once _that_ system got figured out), and the hours might be more regular. But in the end, Burt had decided not to. He'd worked too hard for his shop on Gemenon and owning his own business had meant too much to him to let it go without trying.

Kurt had managed to get a tent assigned to Burt, right near the marketplace. It was a good-sized tent, too. Burt and Brittany divided it into two parts; the small, front area where they could help customers, and the large back area that served as a workshop. A small table that Burt had put together out of Brittany's bunk from the _Cybele_ served as a place to help customers. Burt and Brittany spent a couple of frustrating days cutting flaps into the canvas to make windows that could be zippered shut, so more light could be let into the shop. The business permit was displayed prominently, and they'd hung all the pictures back up, and the best part was the sign outside the tent. _Hummel Repair and Odd Jobs_. Not the most creative name for a business (although it beat Brittany's suggestions, all of which involved unicorns, glitter, and cats), but it was descriptive, and Burt knew he'd have to rely on word of mouth anyway.

And word of mouth spread. Space heater repairs alone would have kept him in business, but people also needed ways to cook their food and light their tents, preferably that didn't involve flames. There were drainage problems and windbreaks. While there were some carpenters in New Caprica that could do far nicer work than he could, Burt found that there were a lot of people looking for basic furniture and they didn't care how bad it looked, as long as it was sturdy and didn't cost them a lot. Finding work on New Caprica wasn't hard.

Some people paid him in cubits, some in barter. Not that cubits always meant that much anymore, but enough people were still using them that they meant _something_, plus it was easier to pay Brittany that way. Burt had no real idea what a fair wage for Brit would be, but as long as she could eat, Brittany didn't seem to care too much. After all, it wasn't like she had rent to pay, and there wasn't much to be had in the way of entertainment or shopping.

The tent that he and Carole shared wasn't much different from his workshop tent, although it was smaller. They'd managed to get a large mattress, and Burt built a low, sturdy bedframe for it. It was once of the nicest beds on New Caprica, especially after they added a thick quilt and two pillows. Brittany didn't stay with them- she shared a tent with Quinn, over near where the medical community had set up shop.

It wasn't the life he had on Lima, but Burt recognized that it was pretty damn close. His own home of a sort, his own business, his family nearby. It was the best facsimile of life before the attacks that anyone got, and Burt was grateful for his luck.

***

"That should do you," Burt said, dusting his hands off automatically and looking around. It had taken him and Brit several days of sore shoulders, pricked fingers, and headaches to figure out how to put four of the small tents together to make such a large one.

"Thanks," Will said, standing in the center of the empty tent. He was wearing a thick, heavy sweater with a bulky neck that Kurt would either love or mock- Burt could never tell which. "I suppose the next thing we need to do is figure out how to make desks."

"How many students are you figuring on having anyway?" Burt asked.

"Not as many as I'd like," Will said with a sigh. "The kids I was teaching on the _Cybele_ for sure, and there should be more. But a lot of kids that should still be in school are… well, apprenticing, for lack of a better word."

"Makes sense," Burt said with a shrug.

"I know. I just wanted better for them, you know?"

Burt was saved from having to answer that by Brittany and Sue coming in. Sue looked around the tent with distaste. "This is it?"

"This is it, Sue. Well, for now. We'll get some more supplies down in the next shipment," Will said, clapping his hands together.

"If Roslin doesn't steal them all first," Sue muttered.

Burt rolled his eyes and gestured to Brittany. "Everything all secure outside?"

"I think so. I pounded them in as hard as I could, but the ground is really hard. Mike called it hoarfrost. I think that's really sexist."

"Something like that." Burt sighed. Sometimes it was worth explaining things to Brit, and sometimes it wasn't. This definitely wasn't the former, especially since Burt wasn't sure Mike was so right about that. New Caprica was cold and the ground was hard, but Burt recognized clay when he saw it, and there was a hell of a lot of clay in the ground. In the middle of the tent, Sue and Will were arguing about whether or not music should be taught or dropped. Unsurprisingly, Sue was saying that music was a waste of resources. Burt sighed. "Let's go."

The high school tent was set up on the corner of what was a group of tents. There was a bare spot behind it, and then Roslin's elementary school across the way. Tina and Mike had come down a few days ago and were setting up shop in a tent nearby as well. The shouts of children indicated that they weren't going to be the only daycare in the area.

"We should build a park," Brittany suggested. "With slides. That big space would be perfect for it."

Burt looked at her with respect. "That's a great idea. Start thinking about some ideas, okay? I'll talk to Kurt about getting materials for it."

They walked back towards the tent that served as their workshop. "If you want to come over for dinner tonight-" Burt began, but Brittany shook her head.

"No, thank you. It's family night for you." She patted his arm. "Besides, I said I'd take a look at Mr. Lampkin's cat. He's worried about the effect an alien diet will have on Lance's digestive system."

The sad thing, Burt thought as he watched Brittany walk off, was there was a time where that sentence wouldn't have made any sense, or he would have at least thought it was funny. Now he walked back to his home tent thinking that it was a crazy world when Brittany was moonlighting as a vet.

Carole was home when he got there, cooking over a small camp stove. "Smells good," he said, ducking inside the tent and kissing her soundly. "The boys here yet?"

"They're hiding in the back," Carole said dryly.

"Sorry. It was a dumb question." The tents were large enough that the roof was several feet over Burt's head, but with furniture, there was barely room to move. The double wide cot took up almost half the tent alone, loaded down with warn blankets. Their clothes were in crates they'd moved down from the _Cybele_, and they'd managed to snag a table and two chairs. "How was the plant?" Burt asked Carole.

Carole stirred the pot. "Lousy," she said. "After nine months- more, for a lot of them- of working on a tylium ship, changing gears entirely and moving to water treatment is practically rocket science for some of these people. I don't know who to be more frustrated with- the people who've had to have the system explained to them three times a day or the President who thought moving the _Daru Mozu_ workers was a good idea."

"Go for the workers, at least tonight," he suggested. He adjusted the flame in the oil lamp that they were using until the power station was fully operational and lines were strung across the settlement. "Kurt will defend Baltar, and I'd rather Finn and I didn't have to keep you and Kurt from tearing out each others' hair."

"Like Kurt would ever forgive me for messing up his hair," Carole said, laughing. "You're right. It's so rare all four of us get to be together- I don't want to ruin it." Burt knew exactly what she meant. When he heard the laughter outside the tent, Burt didn't move, but he wanted to jump up and run to his boys and let them in.

"I'm just saying," Finn said as he pushed the tent flap aside. "_Grand Heat 2_ was better than the first one."

"If you're so simple that all you require for entertainment is explosions," Kurt responded.

"You just like the first one better because James Handy took off his shirt."

"It's a valid reason!" Kurt turned to Carole. "You agree with me, don't you, Carole?"

"Absolutely." Carole kissed Kurt on the cheek, and then hugged Finn. "Is it still cold out?"

"It wasn't bad when I landed, but now that the sun's going down it's getting colder." Finn was wearing his BDUs. Carole's hand lingered on the drab green fabric when she thought Burt wasn't watching. "Is it just me, or is it colder than it was last month?"

"It's not just you," Carole said. "It's been getting colder." She shot a glare at Kurt, who unfortunately caught it.

"We can't control the weather, Carole."

"We didn't have to land here, though."

"Hey! How 'bout that ship they landed today, huh?" Finn asked, right as Burt said, "Brittany had a great idea today."

Both Carole and Kurt were aware they were being distracted- Burt saw it in the look they exchanged. Fortunately, they both looked tolerantly amused. "What was Brittany's great idea?" Carole asked.

"She wants to build a park for the kids by the schools."

Kurt perked up. "That _is_ a great idea," he said. Carole was nodding, too. Burt sighed with relief. Crisis averted.

They talked about the playground, with Finn and Kurt comparing what pieces of equipment had been their favorites as children. (Finn had favored the merry-go-rounds, while Kurt had preferred the swings. Burt made a note to try to make sure both were on that playground.) The conversation wasn't deep, but it had never needed to be. It was enough just to have the four of them crowded around a tiny table, the flickering lamp making the light look warmer. The thick canvas walls kept the wind out, and the air warmed up. But the best part was listening to his family laugh. Kurt and Finn bickering, Carole affectionately teasing them both… Burt was aware he was probably the luckiest man left alive.

Afterwards, he and Kurt walked through the streets of New Caprica, braving the wind. "Glad you came out with me," Burt told Kurt. "I know it's nice to get the whole family together, but it's nice to give Carole and Finn a little time together, too."

"I'll never say no to a walk," Kurt said, burrowing deeper into his scarf. "And you need it. It's good for your heart."

Burt knew Kurt too well to take offense. Instead, he looked around at the dark forms of tents and the bare lights strung over the walkway. The wind had picked up, and here and there they could hear other voices. There were a lot of tents empty yet, but every day, more filled up.

"How are you doing?" Burt asked Kurt as they walked. "About Blaine, I mean?"

Kurt's face got that careful look Burt knew meant the question was hard for him to answer. "I should be doing better," Kurt said. "I mean, he was only back for less than twenty four hours, right?" He laughed, not covering up his real feelings at all. "It shouldn't be such a big deal."

"Yeah, but it is," Burt said. He put a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "You know, if you ever want to talk…."

"I know," Kurt said. Burt thought that might be the end of it, but Kurt drew in a shuddering breath. "It's just... when does it stop hurting so much? When did you get over Mom?"

"I don't know," Burt answered honestly. "And I never got over your mom. I'll always love her. You know that."

"I know. But you love Carole-"

"Yeah."

"But how did you _do_ that?" Kurt asked. "How did you get to that point where you could even _think_ about anyone else again?"

Burt rubbed his chin. "Time," he said finally. "It took a lot of time. I was with your mom longer than you were with Blaine, but the way you lost Blaine twice… you've gotta give yourself time, Kurt."

"I know."

"Until then…." Burt shrugged. "I had you. And the garage. Without those two things, it would have been even harder. Best I can tell you is find something you can get lost in, you know? I mean, you're the aide to the Vice President, right? That's a big job. Focus on that, and in time, the rest of it will take care of itself."

Kurt nodded. "Thanks, Dad."

"Any time. And while you're at it, see if you can get me and Brit some stuff for that park, will you?"

Kurt smiled at him. "I'll make it my top priority."

"Good. Come on. Let's do a row or two more and then we'll go see what your brother and Carole are up to." Burt slung his arm around Kurt's shoulders, squeezing tight as they walked through the cold night.

***

_Colonial One_ had been one of the first ships to land permanently, and it still housed offices, serving as the seat for the government. The first time that Kurt had been in the President's office with its big desk and flags, he'd been a little taken aback. Now he was getting used to it, especially as he sat at a table next to Tom, Gaeta and Baltar sitting across from them.

Kurt rarely spoke up in meetings with Baltar. His job was to take in information and repeat it on request, not to volunteer new ideas. But this playground idea was important to his father, and he'd promised him. So he made his pitch, not just to Tom but to Baltar as well.

"A park," Tom said, giving Kurt a level look.

"A playground," Kurt said, lifting his chin. "I think it's actually a very good idea. It would be a small project, but it's the kind of thing people like. Sort of the equivalent of kissing babies."

Tom templed his fingers and rested them against his lips. Baltar was looking out the window. Gaeta frowned.

"There are other priorities," Gaeta said. "The construction of the power station, the expansion and improvement of the water reclamation station, and the construction of the hospital and housing all are more urgent requirements."

"But it's a playground," Kurt said. "It's not a major endeavor. The supplies would be minimal." He pushed the list his father had given him to the center of the table. Gaeta waited for a moment, and when neither Baltar nor Tom reached for the list, picked it up himself. His frown deepened as he read it, and once again Kurt wondered why Mercedes had been so insistent that he and Gaeta would get along. _Nothing_ ever made Mr. Smallest Details there happy.

"Back on the Colonies this would have been minimal," Gaeta finally agreed. "But with the state of resources here, it's not. Not to mention the labor."

"It would be my father and his assistant building it in their spare time," Kurt said crossly. "And maybe some of the rest of New Directions." Most of whom weren't down here quite yet, but Gaeta didn't have to know that. "It wouldn't be a…what did you call it? A distraction?"

Gaeta frowned. "I didn't call it that."

"You certainly implied it." Kurt glanced over at Tom, but Tom was just watching with hooded eyes. "I don't meant to be a giant cliché, but it is for the children."

"And won't someone please think of the children," Gaeta said sarcastically. "Look, I'm not saying that it's a terrible idea. It's a great idea, and if we had more resources, I would not be opposing it. But the problem is the severe lack of resources available immediately and the other crucial needs for the community. There are other projects that must take priority."

"But-"

"Why don't you two work this out on your own time?" Tom cut in. "Do you agree, Gaius?"

"What?" Baltar startled into attention. "Yes, yes. I am sure you two can work this matter out and come to a conclusion that will satisfy everyone. Let's move along the agenda, shall we?"

"But-" Kurt began, but Tom shook his head. _Be quiet._ He fell back against his seat, back into his role, and the meeting moved on.

He pounced on Tom the minute they left the office. "I know I shouldn't have spoken up, but it really is a good idea. It wouldn't take _that_ much, and the amount of good will and good press something like that could buy-"

"I never said I was against it," Tom said smoothly, steering them towards his office.

Kurt's brows furrowed. "You didn't speak up for it."

"I know I didn't." Tom opened the door and held it for Kurt. "It's a playground. I think you can fight this battle yourself." Tom sounded confident, not patronizing.

The Vice Presidential office was much nicer than the office that Tom had kept on the _Astral Queen._ It was big enough that Tom's desk could be along one wall, with Kurt's desk in the corner. There was a bookcase with a few ragged books, a painting of Sagittaron, and an old couch along the other wall. It lacked any elegance, but it was kind of homey. They'd made an effort to find an office for Kurt, but the only possibility was an actual broom closet, and aside from the symbolism, Kurt was pretty sure he couldn't fit in there away. He entered the office and sat down at his desk, thinking. There were no regular newspapers to speak of right now, and what news there was would not be covering the debates and discussions of two aides. If he lost, no one would ever know.

"I guess I could do it," Kurt said hesitantly.

"I'm sure you could." Tom had lost interest and was reading a report now. "It's a small project, and really only involves getting around Gaeta and Baltar."

Kurt nodded slowly. "All right.

"You need to start somewhere." Tom looked up. "And for what it's worth, my cubits are on you. Consider this your first practical class in political negotiations."

***

"So?" Kurt asked, leaning against the doorframe of Gaeta's small office.

Gaeta looked up irritably from his work. "So what?"

"We need to discuss this playground," Kurt said, pulling out a chair and sitting down in front of Gaeta's desk. "There's got to be a way we can work it out."

"I've gone over the numbers and there's not," Gaeta said tersely.

"It doesn't have to be anything fancy," Kurt said. "My father built a climbing wall over on the _Cybele_ out of spare pipes."

"Which would be needed for the water distribution system."

"I'm sure we could dismantle some crates-"

"And use the wood in the construction of the hospital." Gaeta wasn't budging an inch. Kurt sat back in the chair with a sigh.

"You really are against this, aren't you?"

Gaeta put his pen down. "I'm not against it. I'm just saying that it is not the top priority right now. I'm not saying let's never build a playground ever. It's just not going to happen before a few other projects. What is so hard to understand about that?"

"I understand it perfectly well. I just think that you're overestimating how much we need spare tubing and a couple of beams."

"Well, if you ever paid attention in math and science classes, you'd be able to understand the estimates," Gaeta snapped.

"Well, if you ever paid attention to the people around you, you'd know that this would go a long way in making the administration look good." Kurt was annoyed. "I don't see what's so hard to understand about _that_."

"Because it's not just about staying in office."

"Well, how do you expect to do anything if we're not in office?"

"We have years," Gaeta said curtly. "We've only just started."

"With _Cloud 9_ blowing up and a divide between the military and the President. It's not exactly a good start, here, Gaeta."

"And delaying any of these vital projects will only make it worse, Hummel."

"Perception matters!"

"So do results!"

"Hey! What's going on in here?" An analyst poked his head in. "Would you two please keep it down? We're trying to have a meeting."

"Sorry," Kurt said. "We were just debating."

"Sounds more like you were tearing each others' heads off," the analyst grumbled. "Keep it down," he repeated, then closed the door.

Kurt and Gaeta stared at each other. Finally, Gaeta picked up his pen. "I have work to do," he said stiffly.

"So do I," Kurt shot back. He turned on his heel and headed for the door. "This discussion isn't over."

"Yes it is."

"It's not." Kurt slammed the door before Gaeta could get the last word in. It was _not_ over. Kurt had made a promise to his father, and he was going to keep it. He just had to figure out how.

***

He managed to find Finn by waiting at the landing field for a shipment of medical supplies from the _Galactica._ It never failed to amaze Kurt how much _older_ Finn looked in his flight uniform. It made him glad that they were stepbrothers now, or Kurt was pretty sure his breath would have caught in his throat when Finn turned around and smiled at him. "Hey, Kurt. What's up?"

"You're supposed to help bring some of the greenhouse materials in two days, right?"

"Yeah, I think so. Why?"

Kurt grabbed his arm and led him away a little, so no one could hear them. "Could you… botch the landing a little?"

Finn's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What do you mean?"

Kurt shrugged. "Botch the landing. Just enough to, erm, break some glass."

"Kurt-"

"Finn. The glass can be recycled, and then we might be able to use the other materials for the playground Dad wants to build. For the kids, Finn. Think of the children."

"I can't _believe_ you just said that," Finn groaned. "Does Burt know about this?"

"No, and I'd owe you another favor not to tell him."

"That brings the count up to what now?" Finn teased, reaching out to ruffle Kurt's hair. Kurt dodged away, one finger held up in warning.

"You do that and it counts as one of your favors."

"For breaking glass and essentially stealing building equipment?"

"_Repurposing_," Kurt corrected him. "And yes. I want to impress on you just how big a thing I'm asking you to do."

"Yeah, I got that when you asked me to lie to my commanding officer." Finn sighed. "I'll see what I can do, Kurt. If I can make it look like it happened by accident, I'll do it. But I'm not getting in trouble over this."

"Fair enough," Kurt said, sticking out his hand. Finn stared at him for a moment, and then suddenly lunged in and ruffled Kurt's hair. Kurt squawked. "That's one of your favors!"

"Doesn't matter," Finn said. "It was worth it."

***

The day of the landing had been mercifully windy. Kurt managed to find his way to Baltar's office that evening. Baltar was more than eager to see him, especially since Kurt had made the meeting under the pretext of altering some of Baltar's clothes. Even though Kurt was willing to spend a good portion of his own salary and tradable assets on clothing, it amazed him how much Baltar had managed to accumulate. A good portion of it was draped around the office as Baltar stood on a stool, impatiently waiting as Kurt prepped his supplies.

"Don't move," Kurt ordered, getting down on his knees. "I don't want to prick you."

"Mmm. You know, that could be taken several interesting ways."

Kurt ignored that and focused instead on the hem of the pants. He finished up and then sat back on his heels. "I think that should do it."

Baltar looked down. "Yes. Yes, that will do nicely. Thank you, Kurt."

"You can take them off now," Kurt said. "I'll hem them tonight."

"You don't have other plans?" Baltar asked.

Kurt shook his head. "No. My friends are…" he trailed off. They all had other plans, other lives. Kurt forced a smile. "No. No other plans."

"That's a shame," Baltar said. His eyes lingered on Kurt's face for a long moment. Kurt met his eyes, and Baltar smiled. "So tell me, Kurt. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Actually, there is, sir," he said. Baltar leaned in, smiling and interested. "It's the playground," Kurt said.

"The playground?" Baltar pulled back, looking oddly disappointed. "I'm sorry. What?"

"The playground that Gaeta and I have been discussing," Kurt said. "The one my father wants to build, but he needs the supplies."

"Oh. Yes. Yes, of course." He still had a vague look in his eyes, like the conversation had taken a turn he really hadn't expected.

"You do remember, don't you?" Kurt asked. He wouldn't put it past Baltar to have forgotten.

"Of course I remember," Baltar said, offended. "I just don't understand what the problem is."

"Certain… _people_," Kurt began, careful not to say _Gaeta_, "insist that there are no materials to spare. But I heard that one of the greenhouse-"

"Yes, I heard about that," Baltar cut in. "I believe the glass shattered on the trip down- some Raptor pilot made quite the mess of a landing- and without the glass, the supplies are useless." He tapped his lips and then nodded sharply. "Yes. Take those, then."

"You're serious?" Kurt asked breathlessly, clasping his hands together in an expression of gratitude. "We can have the supplies?"

"Talk to Felix about it," Baltar said. He still seemed completely removed from the situation. He cocked his head, studying Kurt intently. "Kurt, exactly how old are you?"

"Nineteen. I know, it seems old to be excited about a playground, but it's important to my father." It had worked. Kurt couldn't _believe_ it had worked so well.

"It's not the playground I was thinking of," Baltar muttered, but Kurt barely heard him. He was planning out what exactly he was going to say to Gaeta. It had taken over a month to fulfill the promise to his father, but he _was_ going to fulfill it.

"Thank you, sir," Kurt said, folding Gaius's pants and backing towards the door. "I promise- you won't be sorry."

Baltar winked at him. "We'll see. But you'll owe me."

"Of course." Kurt couldn't wait to get out of there and rub it in Gaeta's face.

***

It had taken a month, but now Burt and Brittany stood in the middle of the little space framed by school and daycare tents, a pile of supplies at their disposal and plans in their hands. Brittany looked especially excited.

"We need swings," she said. "I love swings."

Kids were watching, here and there. Laura Roslin was trying to herd her elementary school children into the tent that served as their school, but little faces kept popping out. Mike and Tina had brought their crew outside for the morning, and the children were running and shouting with excitement.

"Need some help?"

Burt turned around to see Will and Shannon standing there, a small army of teenagers behind them. "I thought this was class time," he said.

Shannon smiled. "They're going to need to know how to build on New Caprica, Hummel."

"And they volunteered," Will said, nodding at their students. "You've got all the labor you need right here."

Burt smiled. "All right, then." He picked up a shovel, marked out a spot, and broke ground. "Let's get started."

All around him, he saw smiles.

***

"It's amazing, Dad," Kurt said later, surveying the playground with the smile that Burt loved. "You did a great job."

"Yeah, well, I had a lot of help," Burt admitted. "Can I ask what took so long to get the materials?"

Kurt's face changed and he sighed heavily. "You can ask," he said, settling on a swing. "But I can't promise an answer."

"Politics, huh?" Burt said sympathetically, sitting on the swing next to him.

Kurt nodded, tracing patterns in the grit with his toes. "I just never realized all of the maneuvering I'd have to do just to get a playground built."

"You didn't know that before?" Burt asked, mildly amused. "You've been working for Zarek for almost a year now."

"Yes, but it's different being in the actual administration," Kurt admitted. "I was used to fighting with people when we weren't the ones in charge. I expected things would be different now that we are."

"Ah." Burt leaned against the swing's chain. For all that Kurt seemed so grown up and liked to talk like he was, he looked so young sitting here on the swing, confused and frustrated. It reminded Burt so much of days of taking Kurt to the park as a child.

"You know," he said, leaning back and starting to swing a little, "just occurred to me that I might be taking grandkids here someday."

"Oh?" Kurt looked amused. "Is Rachel pregnant now?"

"Not that I know of. She'd better not be," Burt said with a laugh. "I did say 'someday.' What I was getting at more is that when it comes time for me to have grandkids, we're still going to be here."

"Oh. Yes. Although New Caprica will look a lot different by then."

He looked happy at the thought. Burt knew Kurt was still grieving Blaine, but it was a relief to see that the mere mention of grandkids didn't send him spiraling into a depression. Maybe he was getting better. Burt hoped so. Fifty thousand people was a lot of people- there had to be some guy in that number that Kurt could love, and who would love Kurt back. The thought of bringing Kurt's child to a playground made Burt's throat close up, but in a good way.

He was aware that Kurt was watching him. "I'm sure it will," Burt said hastily, covering up his own thoughts. "Come on. Help me give these swings a test run." It didn't matter that kids had been on them all day. Burt had Kurt to himself, for once being a child instead of too-young adult. He wasn't going to waste it.

***

"Hummel." Gaeta grabbed Kurt by the arm and yanked him into his office. "I need to speak with you _now._"

"I sort of gathered that," Kurt said as Gaeta shut the door. "The pulling me gave it a-"

"I saw the schedule for the greenhouse materials shipment."

Kurt stopped. "Excuse me?"

"The Raptor schedule for the greenhouse materials shipment." Gaeta crossed the small room and stood behind his desk, leaning over it to glare at Kurt. "A pilot answering to the callsign 'Twinkletoes' was flying down the materials for Greenhouse 17."

Kurt shrugged. "So?"

"Twinkletoes' real name is Finn Hudson. Which you know, since he's your stepbrother."

Kurt crossed his arms and gave Gaeta his best deadpan stare. "I didn't realize that you were into hosting mystery theater dinners, too. Really, we could put together quite the affair between the two of us."

Gaeta practically snarled at him. "Finn Hudson hasn't botched a landing since his nugget days. He was always good at landings."

"How the hell do you know that?"

"Because it was my job to know. I knew what the pilots were capable of."

"Oh, please," Kurt snapped back, trying not to show his nervousness. "So maybe he never botched a landing in space, but it was windy that day. He never flew a Raptor until he joined up. He's never tried to land on a planet before, until we got here."

"He botched that landing on purpose so the glass would shatter and you could take those materials!"

"Prove it!" Kurt shouted. "Nothing like that happened!"

"I _will_ report this," Gaeta warned him, straightening back up and stalking over to the door. "You are not going to get away with this."

"What, because I control the weather now?" Kurt sniffed and held his head high as he stormed past Gaeta and out the door. "Good luck. Watch out for the rain I'm sending tomorrow!" The door slammed behind him.

He knew. Frak it- Gaeta _knew_. Kurt had a bad feeling about how this was all going to play out for him.

***

"Did you do it?"

Kurt had been thinking about what order to pack up his desk in when Tom walked in. He startled to attention. "Did I do what?"

"Did you convince your stepbrother to botch his landing so the glass would break and you could take the materials?"

"It was windy that day," Kurt tried. Tom just stared at him with _that_ look, and Kurt sighed. "Yes."

He was expecting fury, or lectures, or a demand to leave. He was expecting anger. What he was _not_ expecting was for Tom to burst out laughing, and to come over, take Kurt by the cheeks, and kiss his forehead.

"What…?"

"Brilliant," Tom pronounced. "Absolutely brilliant. I knew you'd come up with a way to get around him if you really wanted to badly enough. Very well done, Kurt. I'm impressed."

"You're not mad?" Kurt asked incredulously.

Tom shrugged. "It was one greenhouse's worth of materials. Granted, you try that specific trick again or on me and I will be furious, but no. I'm not mad."

"Oh." He hadn't been expecting that. "But it was dishonest."

"It was shrewd," Tom corrected. "This is politics, Kurt. You dirty your hands so you can deliver your promises- their _freedoms_- to the people who elected you. When you are in politics, you are a living sacrifice, and sometimes you must trust that the good you hope to accomplish will outweigh the negatives. You tarnish your soul so you can bring them that shining dream."

Kurt nodded. "Right," he said, because he had learned that that was the best way to deal with Tom when he got into one of these purple-prose moods. But Kurt also knew he had a point- he had _seen_ Roslin's face the day she'd banned abortion and what it had cost her.

Tom was still laughing. "Come on," he said, gesturing for Kurt to take a seat next to him. "We have this Quorum meeting in two hours, and I want to go over some notes with you. Let's see if we can find you another project, since you did so admirably with this one."

The _Cybele_ was strangely quiet now, floating in orbit. Kurt, Tina, Rachel, and Quinn made the pilgrimage up to find Artie and Puck waiting for them.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Quinn asked, staring at Puck in surprise. "I wouldn't think you'd care about performance outfits."

"Huh? I don't," Puck said cheerfully. "I just came over to see my boy Artie here." His eyes lingered thoughtfully on Kurt, and Kurt had the suspicion that there was something else going on.

"It's so quiet," Kurt said, instead of asking Puck what the hell was going through his head.

"Yeah, it's just a few of us up here anymore. It's kind of nice," Artie said, wheeling in front of them as they made their way from docking bay to New Directions' old room. "I've pretty much got the place to myself. And all the hot water I want!"

That caused a groan of envy from the delegation that had come up from New Caprica, and Tina teasingly smacked him. "I might have to shower while we're up here just for that," she said longingly.

"Hey. Spaceships have their perks." Artie looked extremely smug right now,

The yellow door leading to the room made Kurt smile, and when Artie opened the door, a surprising wave of homesickness washed over him. All of the bunks were cleared out now except for Artie's- the room was full of bare wood and piping. But the brightly painted designs and glow-in-the-dark stars were still there, and the room didn't look as depressing as it could have.

"I think they're still in bags under the beds," Rachel said. She dropped to her knees and began pulling out garment bags from under the bunk that Burt and Carole had shared. "I've got them!" Kurt hurried to help her dump the huge bags on the bed.

"Wait, what are these again?" Puck asked.

"Our outfits for the All-Colony Show Choir Competition," Rachel said. "We never did anything with them, and I thought we could wear them for our performance at Founders' Day."

"Sweet." Puck unzipped one of the bags. He started rifling through them, and tossed Kurt the one labeled with his name. Kurt stared at the fabric in amazement. It was cheap polyester, a black shirt with a black tie and a bright blue vest. It was tacky and flimsy and horrible, and he'd never been so glad to see it in his life.

"How am I ever going to get this on?" Tina said, holding up her own dress. The girls' dresses were the same blue as the vests, with a silver band across waistline. Unfortunately, they were also an A-line this year, not an empire waist, which definitely presented a problem with Tina's belly.

"A lot of these aren't going to fit," Lauren said, putting her bag down and finding her own costume. "Mine's too big."

"Shut up," Tina scowled.

Kurt put his own outfit down and hurried over, examining the girls' dresses. "This is going to be tough," he said happily. "We can't just do a simple swap, can we?" Lauren had lost weight, but not enough to fit into Tina's dress. "What else have we got to work with?"

"I don't know, but Tina's not the only one not fitting into her costume," Artie said. Kurt frowned, and Artie nodded at Puck, who had whipped off his own shirt and was now wearing his New Directions shirt. The fact that Puck had bulked up in his time in the Marines was extremely obvious, especially in the biceps and the chest.

"Do not move," Kurt ordered him sharply.

"What?" Puck paused in doing up his tie. "Is there a bomb in here or something?"

"If you move, you are going to split your sleeves."

"Huh?" Puck looked down. "Oh. That. It's fine."

"Fine!?" Kurt was appalled. "Have you even looked at those seams?"

Puck shrugged, and as he did, there was the sound of tearing fabric. Kurt hissed in pain, but Puck just smirked. "Calm down," Puck said. "I know exactly how to take care of this one." He reached over and ripped off a sleeve. Kurt let out an inarticulate scream.

"Puck!" Quinn laughed. "What are you going to _wear_?"

"Who needs sleeves?"

"In New Caprica weather?" Tina asked with a shiver. "Everybody."

"Nah. I'll be dancing." Puck did a particularly bad body roll, causing the girls to shriek with laughter and Artie to shake his head. Kurt laughed with the rest of them, but at the same time flipped through the outfits. Brittany's and Quinn's and Rachel's would be fine, Santana and Mercedes would probably need modifications, Sam had gotten thinner, Mike's was fine, Finn's would need to be let out, Artie's was fine, Blaine's-

Blaine's. There it was, under Kurt's hands. Blaine's show choir costume. He picked it up and smelled it. The cloth mostly smelled like dust and polyester, but underneath that there was an elusive whiff of the aftershave Blaine used. For just a second, Blaine was _there_ again, smiling at Kurt, and Kurt could feel the warmth of Blaine's cheek against his and the solidity of the muscles in his back under his hands.

"Kurt." Artie touched his elbow. "Kurt? Are you okay?"

The feeling of homesickness intensified, and Kurt sat down on a bunk slowly, still clutching the costume. "Yes," he said, his voice sounding to him like it was coming from a great distance away. "I'm okay."

"Really? Because you're white. Like, really white." Artie looked down at the outfit in Kurt's hands. "Oh."

The look of naked sympathy on Artie's face was almost too much to bear. Kurt took a deep breath, lifted a chin, and set Blaine's outfit aside. "It looks like I have a lot of work to do."

"You don't have to do it alone," Tina said. "I could help you."

Kurt shook his head. "No. It's good for me. The tent gets awfully quiet at night."

"Speaking of which, Kurt? Can I talk to you?" Puck asked. He held the door open, and more curious than anything else, Kurt followed him out into the hall.

Puck really looked a lot different than he had a year ago. The mohawk was still gone, although he kept his head closely shaved. The muscles were bigger and Puck was even leaner, but what had changed the most was the expression on in his face. For all the bleating that went on in New Directions about "learning to be a man," Kurt was never as sure that he'd seen someone grow up as he was when he stood in the hall facing Noah Puckerman. "What's going on?" he asked.

"It's about living situations."

Kurt frowned. "What about it?"

"You've heard they're discharging the Marines after this Founders' Day thing, right?" Kurt nodded. "And from what I hear, tents are running low on New Caprica. They've asked us to gang up with other people if we can."

"I know. I typed the memo."

"Oh. Right. Well, anyway, I was thinking… wanna be roomies?"

The request took him by complete surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Roommates. Share a tent. Come on- you're supposed to be smart. You can get this."

"Yes, but why me?" Kurt asked.

Puck shrugged. "Who else? Finn's staying on _Galactica_ and Artie is staying on the _Cybele_. Sam's shacked up with Rya, and same with Mike and Tina. It's just you and me from New Directions."

"So I'm the only game in town." Kurt leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "What about Lauren?"

"Well, she'll be coming over a lot," Puck said. "I think. I don't know. She's still not so sure. Right now she wants to keep living with Rachel."

Something vulnerable flashed across Puck's face, something that reminded Kurt that once the two of them had spent a lot of nights drinking together, trying to deal with a common pain. Only Puck had gotten a miracle, Kurt thought sourly, while he'd just gotten his heart broken again.

But there were other issues as well. "I remember when I was on the Pyramid team for a few weeks," Kurt said, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "I seem to recall you hiding behind lockers because you were afraid I would… what was the phrase you used? 'Gawk at your junk.'" Puck grimaced. "And then there were Slushees for being a 'flaming homo', the dumpster tosses for dressing-"

"All right, I get it," Puck cut him off. "I'm sorry, okay? I thought you knew that."

"I did," Kurt admitted. "But you have to admit, I've never exactly been 'one of the guys.'"

Puck looked frustrated. "That was then, okay? I just thought it would good for both of us to have the company."

"What about any of the other Marines?"

"If I have to, yeah, that's what I'll do. But I thought we were family, too."

Kurt looked over Puck's shoulder at the closed yellow door. He could hear the girls and Artie laughing at something behind it. The truth was, he missed living in that room, with all of New Directions. As crowded as it could be, and as much as the lack of privacy had been disturbing, Kurt missed it. And right now, the thought of going down to New Caprica and spending the night alone in his cold tent, with the silence and the air around him and the feel of Blaine's outfit on his hands and nothing to distract him… the thought was less than appealing. It would be a lot better if someone was there- and even better, someone who understood what he was going through. Puck was the closest he was ever going to get.

"All right," Kurt said. "Let's do it."

"Great." Puck's smile was warm, and Kurt smiled back.

***

Founder's Day was bright and warm, at least by New Caprica standards. "Four months," Carole said. "It took us four months to break ground on any permanent buildings."

"Hey. These things do take time. And if nothing else it's nice to celebrate something." Burt took Carole's hand as they walked to the celebration. A platform had been erected as a stage earlier that week, and now it was hung with the flags of the Colonies and bright colors. The flags fluttered in the stiff breeze that came in off the rivers. "And I'm looking forward to hearing all the kids sing together again."

Carole brightened at that. "I am, too. That's easily the best part. Well, that and Finn coming down." Her smile widened even more. "I think he's staying overnight, too."

"Yeah, like we'll see him," Burt muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing." Burt decided it was wisest not to mention the conversation he'd had with Brittany last night. She'd explained the complicated system the kids had worked out to make sure everyone had a place to sleep that night, which basically resulted in most of the kids having sex. There were things Carole just didn't need to know. Hell, if he'd known what Brittany was going to tell him, he'd have told her there were things that _he_ didn't need to know.

There were a lot of familiar faces in the crowd. People from the _Cybele_, neighbors from New Caprica, people Carole worked with at the water treatment facility, and Shannon, Will, and Sue standing in a little group. Schuester looked happy, Shannon had a small smile playing on her lips, and Sue had her arms crossed and was glaring at the world. Rya was also standing with them, looking a little awkward and uncertain. When she saw Burt and Carole, she brightened considerably and bounced a little on her toes.

"You got here in time! They're about to start!"

"You mean we didn't miss Baltar's speech?" Carole teased, affecting a fake pout. "That's too bad."

"Ha ha." Rya nudged her, and then turned eagerly back to the stage. "I've been dying to see New Directions sing all together. I saw their special on the television back around Colonial Day, and I've heard their songs on the wireless, but I've never gotten to see them perform live. I'm so excited- I always thought… oh my gods."

"What's wrong?" Burt asked.

"I sound like a groupie."

"Actually, you sound like a teenage girl," Burt said.

"Burt!" Carole swatted him.

"What? She _is_ a teenage girl! It's nice to hear her sound like one!" Rya and Carole exchanged commiserating glances, but Burt meant it.

He didn't have a lot of time to dwell on it, though, because Tina and Mercedes took the center stage, with Artie and Sam playing guitars off to the side. . Kurt had done some miracle on Tina's dress so that it both fit and looked good. The noise of the crowd died down expectantly, and the girls smiled at each other. Burt knew them well enough to know they were loving every second of this.

Tina and Mercedes started singing some song about the dog days being over. As the song went on, the other kids began coming up from behind the stage, jumping into a very enthusiastic dance routine. Burt was pretty sure this wasn't the routine intended for the competition. None of the kids seemed to be quite doing the same dance, but they all got a minute to take the attention and shine, and their dance seemed to be more of a celebration than anything else. It sure got the audience moving.

The song ended and the crowd applauded. Burt could see Baltar with a few of his cronies over to the side of the audience. Baltar was smiling and applauding enthusiastically, but the younger man standing at his elbow was frowning. His frown only deepened as Kurt and Rachel took the center stage and began singing their duet about happy days and getting happy or whatever it was. They sounded so damn good together, it was a shame they weren't up there performing all the time. Burt applauded as enthusiastically as everyone else when the song was over.

The last song was one Burt actually knew- it was from a movie he'd taken Kurt to years ago. Kurt hadn't been overly entranced by the robot story and had fallen asleep, but Burt had kind of loved it. He remembered this song playing over the credits as he'd tried to pretend he wasn't crying and as Kurt had slept against his arm, a warm, trusting weight. Burt had always liked that song, but he loved the kids' version of the song even more, especially since each kid got a couple lines to sing and a moment in the spotlight.

"You know," Carole said when the song ended and the kids were taking their bows, "it's just really nice to see them all together again. It's been a while."

"Blaine's funeral, probably," Burt realized. He cringed at that.

The kids left the stage, triumphant and waving to the audience as they ran off. Probably not very professional, but the energy was there. The lackey who hadn't smiled stepped up to the podium, and Burt finally remembered that his name was Gaeta. He gave a glowing introduction to Baltar that he seemed to genuinely believe in, and then the President of the Colonies took the stage. Beside Burt, Carole hissed. He nudged her sharply, and she gave him a guilty smile before subsiding into silence.

Burt didn't really listen to the speech, which seemed to be all big words and generalities anyway. Instead, he looked around at the people around them. So much hope, so much laughter, so much life. He was glad to see it. The months on the ground already had taught him that New Caprica life wasn't going to be easy, and humanity needed all the hope it could get.

***

A lot of the day was a blur for Kurt- a blur of hand-shaking and people talking, promises and plans and Quorum representatives and ministers mixed with regular people telling him how wonderful the music was. It was a heady combination, and Kurt was on top of the world.

The formal ceremony had long since wound down, and Kurt had been released from both official duties and singing, although New Directions stuck together. It had been a good day, with everyone together and everyone happy. There was laughter, gossip, alcohol, and food, and now that night had fallen, there was music and there was dancing. The platform had been cleared and strung with lanterns and was now serving as a dance floor, although Kurt wasn't quite sure where the music was coming from. Like everyone else, he'd had more than a few drinks.

"Dance with me!" Mercedes insisted, pulling Kurt into a fast, complicated number. Kurt gamely joined her, his hand on her waist as they stumbled through the steps. The dance was a set dance, which meant a lot of switching of partners, particularly with the pair across the set. The woman was vaguely familiar, small and dark with large, liquid eyes. Kurt liked dancing with her, and it was clear that she and Mercedes knew each other from the way they grinned at each other. Automatically, Kurt looked across the set to smile at her partner, but his smile froze on his lips. It was Gaeta.

The music and the dance ended, and the woman grabbed Mercedes by the wrist and pulled her over to the side to talk, leaving Kurt awkward and partnerless in the middle of the dance floor. The music started again, and Kurt scampered over to the side before he could be trampled. Unfortunately, he found himself standing next to Gaeta. Gaeta stared at him for a long moment and Kurt stared back. Finally Gaeta nodded stiffly. Kurt felt like he'd won something and couldn't help smirking in return. They watched the girls talking together. They talked easily, and even from across the dance floor Kurt felt a little left out and lonely.

"So. Is she your girlfriend?" Kurt asked, partly to bait Gaeta, and partly just because the silence between them was becoming overwhelming.

Gaeta looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. "If by that you mean that she is a girl and my friend, yes. That's Lieutenant Dualla."

The name rang a bell from days of calling _Galactica_, and Kurt frowned. "Dualla. I thought she was a petty officer."

"She was. She was promoted."

"Ah."

They both fell silent again. Mercedes and Dualla looked over at them, and then both burst into smothered giggles. It was clear they were talking about the two of them, and Kurt's cheeks began to burn. "Is it because they're both communications officers?" he blurted.

Gaeta raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"Do communications officers have their own secret code or something? Are they all in cahoots, ready to take over the world and punish the rest of us? Or at least laugh at us? Because I'm pretty sure they're laughing at us. Or plotting."

"No. Communications officers have to be, like, the lamest people in the worlds. Believe me. I know." Santana caught Kurt off guard, coming up behind him. She had changed out of her New Directions costume and back into her uniform, although she had the jacket off and tied around her waist. She draped her arm around Kurt's shoulders, proof of just how drunk she was. "Pilots are where it's at. Even Brit knows that."

Kurt tried to remove her arm politely. "Where is Brittany, anyway?"

Santana pointed to the band. Rachel must have smacked down the singer and commandeered the microphone. She had Brittany and Tina singing backup for her. Kurt rolled his eyes. "I should have known."

"I know, right? The world ends, and Rachel still hogs the spotlight. Oh, look. Here comes a walking case of syphilis."

Gaeta scowled at her, but Kurt honestly had no idea what Santana was referring to until he saw President Baltar approaching them. Automatically, he straightened up, adjusting his cuffs and his tie. Baltar looked right through him to the man standing beside him.

"Ah, Mr. Gaeta. There you are."

Gaeta smiled widely. "What can I do for you, Gai- Mr. President?" Kurt glanced at Santana, and he definitely knew that cat-ready-to-pounce expression on her face.

"I was wondering if you had time to go over some figures," Baltar said. "I know that it's the middle of a party, but I was thinking-"

"Of course, sir." Gaeta glanced at his watch, but Kurt would bet money he didn't see the numbers on it. "We can go whenever you like. I have time now, if you want."

"That would suit. Come along." Gaeta looked over the moon, and he turned away from Kurt and Santana without a word. Baltar, however, noticed and winked at them. As they walked away, he put a hand on Gaeta's lower back, and Kurt was almost positive it was for some strange show. He led Gaeta away from the party with a very clear intent. Kurt's eyes met Santana's, and both of them cracked up.

"Did that really just happen?" Kurt asked, when he could speak again.

"Yes, the President of the Colonies left the party to go nail his assistant," Santana said. "Although what he sees in him is beyond me."

"What Gaeta sees in Baltar or what Baltar sees in Gaeta?"

"Both. Either. Take your pick. Come on, let's go find hot people to dance with." Santana grabbed Kurt's hand. Kurt didn't really care to dance anymore, but he let her pull him anyway. Rachel now had half of New Directions up with her singing "Raise Your Glass," and it seemed like half of the _Galactica_ crowd was trying to out-sing them. Everyone was drunk, everyone was hooking up, and everyone was _happy_ in this world that they were building. Kurt decided that for tonight, at least, that would be enough for him.

***

Somewhere- Burt had no idea of where- Brittany had found a strand of bells. She'd attached it to the main flap of their tent, so they jingled whenever someone came in, like right now. "I'll be with you in a minute," Burt called, soldering a connection. He finished, blew on the wet solder, and then looked up. He was surprised to see Tom Zarek standing in his shop, examining his surroundings interestedly. "Mr. Zarek. What can I do for you?"

Zarek smiled. "I heard that you were someone to talk to if I actually wanted a bed frame that was more than a metal cot."

"I am." Burt couldn't help feeling a little relieved- he'd been worried it had to do with Kurt. He came over to the table and pulled out a pad. "I don't suppose you have dimensions, do you?"

Zarek blinked at him, and then rubbed the back of his neck apologetically. "Er, no. I'm afraid I don't."

Burt looked at his watch. He had an appointment to install a windbreak at an older couple's tent in a half hour, so there was no time to just go to Zarek's tent and get the measurements. "Send the dimensions with Kurt," he said. "Length and width, maybe some idea of depth. You got an idea of what you want?"

"Just something that keeps the mattress off the ground. Maybe up to here if you can manage it." Zarek indicated the top of his thigh. "After twenty years in prison, just having something that doesn't squeak when I sit down on it seems like a luxury."

"It would." Burt had never really thought about that, but it made sense. Zarek's life had probably actually improved in its way.

Zarek must have sensed his thoughts. "Not that I would wish the destruction of humanity on my fellow men as a price for my freedom," he chuckled. "But it certainly is the proverbial silver lining."

"I guess. I can't complain much myself," Burt said. "I've got my family."

"Kurt says that you've remarried?"

"Yeah, but that was a while ago. Kurt's mom died when he was a kid. You didn't know that?"

Zarek frowned. "Now that you mention it, I did. Kurt doesn't talk about it much."

"Yeah, well." Burt didn't like to, either. He decided to change the subject. "Hey, I wanted to say thank you. About the playground, you know? I know you went to bat for Kurt on that one."

"No, I didn't. Kurt did that all by himself."

"Really?" Burt was impressed. "I know he had to fight a bit for it, so I just sort of assumed-"

"Kurt's learned a lot in a year."

"I guess so. I know it's not what he planned on, but it seems to be good for him. Mostly, anyway."

Zarek nodded. "He has a knack for negotiation, if I'm honest."

"Course he does." Burt laughed. "You should see how that kid can shake money out of me. Sometimes I didn't even know how much I gave him until I checked my wallet the next day."

"So that's where he gets it from," Zarek said. "I wondered. So you're not a negotiator?"

"Of course I'm a negotiator. I was a mechanic. I'm just no good at it when it comes to my own kid. Most parents are like that." Burt frowned. "Did- do you have kids?" It was a touchy question, but he was curious.

Zarek shook his head. "No, not that I ever knew of, at least." He winked, but then his face turned serious again. "I never had the chance. I suppose it never would have happened- it's harder to be ready to die for what you believe in when you have something so important to live for. It was probably for the best."

"Yeah. Guess that's a problem when you pick 'political martyr' as a career."

He had no idea what had possessed him to say it- probably Carole's influence, really. And for a terrible moment he thought that Zarek would be furious. But Zarek laughed, much to Burt's relief. "I think most people consider political martyr as an epitaph as opposed to a job description, but I suppose that might be true." He was still chuckling. "I don't suppose that you and your wife would like to join me for dinner some night? I suspect we might get along quite well."

To Burt's surprise, he had the same feeling. "I would," he said regretfully, "but I don't think it would go well with you and Carole. She was a pretty ardent Roslin supporter during the election."

Zarek smiled easily. "Another time, then. Well, I won't take up too much more of your time. I'll send the measurements with Kurt."

"All right. Once you get them to me, it should be about a week." Zarek nodded his thanks and headed out of the tent. Burt watched him go, kind of wishing he'd said yes. It certainly would have made Kurt happy, anyway.

Thinking of Kurt made Burt realize that it had been a while since he'd seen him. Since the last time they'd had dinner almost a week ago, actually. He frowned. Kurt was still… different. Burt knew the signs of grief well enough to know what was bothering his son, but he also couldn't help but think that Kurt should be starting to feel a little better. He wished he could really talk to Kurt, see what was going on in his head, but Kurt wasn't really letting him in. From what Burt could gather, Kurt spent a lot of time either at work or alone these days. The first didn't worry him so much, but the second really did.

Sighing, he turned back to his work. Kurt would be okay, and eventually, this thing about Blaine would sort itself out. Or at least, he sure as hell hoped so.

***

Kurt's tent didn't have much in it, but it _did_ have a dresser and a sheet hanging in a corner to make something of a closet. There was also an old desk- rickety, but bigger than the one he had on _Colonial One_ in the corner of Zarek's office, a bed with thick (albeit sadly mismatched) blankets, and a decent hot plate. Since Founder's Day, he'd also managed to get a second cot and dresser for Puck. He couldn't believe how much he was looking forward to it. Kurt had found the silence of being alone after so long rather oppressive.

"All right!" Puck said, tossing a heavy canvas bag down onto the empty cot. "It's time to party!"

Kurt looked up from his work and glanced at his watch. "You're joking."

"Nope. Look what I snagged from the _Galactica_." Puck plunked the bottle of whiskey down on Kurt's desk. "Come on, man. It's our first night as roomies. We've got to get drunk to celebrate!"

"You'd get drunk to celebrate an especially good bowel movement," Kurt said dryly. But he put his pen down anyway, dug through the crates, and found two glasses.

"Classy." Puck smirked as Kurt set the glasses down. "I was just going to drink straight from the bottle."

"Why does this not surprise me?" He smiled to take the sting from his words, not that Puck really noticed there was supposed to be one. He picked up the bottle and poured, then took a sip from his own glass and made a face. "This is terrible."

"Yeah, but it's strong," Puck said, sitting down on his cot. "You like that, right?"

"Yes," Kurt admitted. "I do. You'd better not be too hung over if you're working security tomorrow. They start early." Puck dismissed that with a snort and a wave. Kurt sighed and changed the subejct. "So when can I expect to be kicked out because Lauren's coming over?"

"Not quite sure yet," Puck said, throwing himself back on the cot with a sigh. "I thought she'd be okay with it by now, you know?" He launched into the tale of how Lauren was still gunshy about being with a stud like him after all the shit she'd been through on Caprica. Kurt nodded with a sympathetic face and half a mind, the rest of his attention wandering to what it might have been like for him and Blaine. The way Blaine had clung to him when he'd come to the _Galactica_… Kurt was pretty sure it would have been different. That if Blaine was alive, he would be down here and they'd be living together and Kurt would probably even have a ring on his hand and-

"It doesn't bother you, does it?" Puck asked suddenly.

"What?" Kurt took another sip. The whiskey had lost that pleasant burn, but it also had lost the worst of the shoe polish taste.

"Me talking about Lauren. I know that she and Blaine-"

"Nope." Kurt downed the rest of his drink in one long, smooth gulp.

"It's just that even though she's back, everything's crazy and shit. Everything they saw and did on Caprica really frakked her up."

"I know," Kurt said. "I _have_ been listening, even though if I appear to be wallowing in the most Katarisian of manners." Puck stared at him blankly. "He's a poet," Kurt said. No response. "We spent half of last semester on him?" Still no response, and Kurt sat back. "Never mind. My point is, I listen."

Puck made one last attempt at consideration. "If it bothers you, you can tell me."

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Have you ever known me to be reluctant about expressing what I'm thinking?"

"Yeah, you've got a point. Glad to see you're cutting loose a little, though, and having a little fun." He gestured at the drink in Kurt's hand. "You deserve it."

_You deserve it._ The words shot through Kurt and made him sit up a little straighter. "Yes," he said. "I do."

Puck leaned over and poured Kurt more whiskey. "And this is going to be just what the doctor ordered. Bottoms up."

***

The water treatment plant was small, probably too small for what the community needed for real water. It was clear the plant had been slapped together quickly. Burt didn't know much about concrete, but he was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to crack after a couple of months.

He found Carole on a narrow bridge that extended between two low, flat tanks. She was looking down into one of the tanks, frowning.

"Everything okay?" he asked her.

She startled, but when she realized that it was him she softened into a smile. "Not really," she admitted. "You do not want to know what I think I just spotted in that tank."

"Tell me it was an alligator."

Carole laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "It was an alligator," she said. "Believe me. You want to believe that more than the alternative. What's going on?"

He held up his bag. "I brought you lunch."

"You're the best." She kissed his cheek. "Come on. Let's go on out and have a picnic in the fresh New Caprican air." Her voice was loaded with sarcasm, but Burt brushed that aside. The plant had a kind of nasty, sulphurous smell to it, and it was actually a pretty nice day by New Caprican standards.

"Hey, Carole." A tall, thin man with red hair stopped her. "I need your signatures on the shift paperwork by two today. We've got to get it submitted."

"I'm on it, Xeno," Carole said with a sigh. "They'll be there."

"Good. Because President Baltar said-"

"Believe me, I know what Baltar said. I'm on it." She sounded a lot more snappish. "And I've got the shifts for next week done as well."

Xeno drew back. "Oh. Okay. All right then." He looked at Burt, who shrugged. You didn't mess with Carole when she was on the job. This guy would figure that out soon enough. "I'll see you later then."

"That's Xeno Fenner," Carole said as she and Burt continued on their way. "He was over on the _Hitei Khan_. "

"Seems like he underestimates you a bit," Burt said.

"You think?" Carole rolled her eyes. "Neither of us are happy about this assignment, but the best we can do is- what is it, Sam?"

"Sorry to interrupt." Sam handed Carole a slip. "I've got the reports from waste tank two. You're not going to like them."

Carole took the paper from him and made a face, recoiling for effect. "You're right." She frowned. "Get Hubert and Krassis on that right away. Tell them to get the drain open, and if they have to go scuba diving, I want that unclogged by the end of the day, or things are going to get really disgusting in the northwest section of the settlement. Also, go up to _Colonial One_ and tell Kurt or Gaeta- you'll never get in with Baltar- to send the word to the northwest section that the toilets will be out of commission for the day and to use the ones in the nearest quadrant. And for the gods' sake, make sure that tanks one and three are fully operational, or we'll be up to our ears in shit." Sam nodded and ran off, and Burt stared at Carole. "What?"

"Nothing," Burt said with a little incredulous laugh. "Just you are incredibly, amazingly hot right now."

Carole laughed. "Talking about shit and drainage? I never knew you were such a romantic, Burt."

"Well, let me steal you out of here before anyone else comes demanding your time." He grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the plant, this time finally making it out into the gray sunshine and brisk air. He led her down to the gravelly bank of the river, a short distance from the plant. As they left, the fact that Carole visibly relaxed did not escape his notice.

"Is it really that bad?" he asked her once they both had their sandwiches.

Carole swallowed the bite she was chewing and settled down on a rock. "It is," she said. "I know I've made no secret of the fact I don't like Baltar or New Caprica, but there are ways that we could make it work better."

"Like what?" Burt asked, sitting down next to her.

"Bringing the _Demetrius_ down here, for a start," Carole said. "We'd have to retrofit it, and I've been told it would need a lot of modification for land use, but it would be something _more_ than what we've got now. From what I understand, this treatment facility just isn't going to be enough for the size of the community." She sighed, picking up a pebble and tossing it into the river. "Everyone's so eager to get down here and get off those spaceships that it seems like no one's really thinking about the best way to do this."

"I don't know," Burt said. "_Galactica_ knows what they're doing. And the other things they're focusing on are really important, too."

"_Galactica_ knows how to deal with war. We're not at war anymore." Carole shook her head. "Which is another thing. Now that we're here, the way people are reacting. They think it's over. They think that they've been through this horrible thing and that they deserve to rest. That they deserve special treatment because they've lost so much."

Burt thought about that. "Guess I can see that."

"I can, too, but the problem is that there's no one to _give_ that special treatment. Even people like you and me- we might have our kids and each other, but we've still lost so much. And with a place like New Caprica, no one can just sit back. Although I feel like an ass when I'm telling that to my crew, because they deserve to be able to do just that."

Burt sighed. "We could just run away."

"What, and live like mountain men in the hills of New Caprica? Don't tempt me." Carole leaned her head on Burt's shoulder. "I know I just have to get through this beginning part. Just promise me that there will be more moments like this to make it bearable."

Burt put his arm around her, holding her close. "There will always be moments like this. Always. I promise."

***

Living with Puck was nowhere near as horrible as Kurt had feared it would be when Puck had proposed the idea. Kurt had known he was a last resort, but at the same time, their relationship had changed a lot since the attack on the Colonies. The two of them had spent a lot of nights together, trying to work through a common pain. Of course, Puck had gotten a miracle, Kurt thought sourly. He'd just gotten his heart broken again. But Puck had grown up a lot, too. He wasn't a complete slob, and he didn't host too many loud parties. His security job kept him pretty busy, and he seemed happy with it. Kurt thought that things were going really well until one morning when Puck cornered him before Kurt went to work.

"How the hell did anyone ever sleep in the same room as you?"

Kurt paused in tying his tie. "Excuse me?"

"Anyone ever tell you that you talk in your sleep?"

"No, I don't."

"Like hell you don't. You so do- believe me. I had to listen to it all last night. You were practically frakking screaming."

"What was I saying?"

Puck's face changed a bit. "What do you think?" Kurt looked away. "Seriously. No one has ever mentioned this to you before?"

"Everyone has nightmares," Kurt said, still looking at the canvas wall of their tent. "Especially these days."

"Yeah, well, next time I'm waking you up," Puck said. "I don't care if it's the middle of the night."

"Whatever. I have to get to work." Kurt wasn't sure if he liked the idea of Puck waking him out of those nightmares or not.

Puck wasn't the only one bothering him, though. "Are you all right?" Tom asked him one day out of the blue.

Kurt barely looked up from his work. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you haven't said a word about my leather jacket for over a week."

"Maybe I recognize a lost cause when I see it." Kurt shrugged.

"Right. Or you're plotting to steal it while I sleep." Tom frowned. "Kurt, if you need someone to talk to-"

"Oh, my gods, _you_ are not sitting me down and saying this." Kurt was horrified. "We do not have that kind of relationship."

Tom looked just as horrified. "No! No, no. No, I mean, if you need to talk to someone and you need an hour or two in your week to do it, we can arrange it."

Kurt relaxed. "I suppose I'm grateful you're just offering me time off to go see a shrink, not to be one. Honestly, I'm fine. Really." He sat up straighter and began slipping a piece of paper into the antiquated typewriter that he used. "I'm fine."

"All right, but the offer still stands."

Tom Zarek was not someone who brought things like this up. Kurt ignored that, and shook his head and started typing. The sound of the keys was oddly soothing, and he lost himself in the letters that appeared before his eyes.

***

Dinners might not be on the same nights all the time, but they still happened at least once a week. Burt cherished those nights he had Kurt and Finn at the table. Usually, they were good nights. But tonight, Finn was quiet. "What's bugging you, kiddo?"

"It's Rachel," Finn said with a heavy sigh.

"What about her? She's not pregnant, is she?" That wouldn't shock Burt at all.

"No! No!" Finn looked both terrified and embarrassed. "Why would you think that?"

Burt shrugged, and Carole leaned forward. "What is it, honey? Is something wrong with Rachel?"

"Sort of," Finn said. "The thing is, she doesn't have a job anymore, ever since _Cloud 9_ blew up."

"I thought she was going to apply to the newspaper," Carole said.

"She did. They didn't want her."

"Oh." Carole looked at Burt. Neither of them quite knew what to say to that. "Well, I'm sure she can find another job."

"That's just it," Finn said. "She's tried. But there are no more positions allotted in the schools. Mike and Tina are barely making enough to feed themselves with their daycare, so she can't work there. And she kinda faints when she sees blood."

"So there are other jobs, aren't there?"

"Well, not a lot of them. I mean, I guess there will be, but…" Finn looked uncomfortable. "She got a assigned to a construction crew."

"Oh." Burt had to admit, he didn't really see the tragedy there. Sure, it wasn't Rachel's first choice, but a job was a job, and construction was honest work.

"Does she even know which end of the hammer to hold?" Kurt asked. The words were caustic, but he looked troubled as well.

"Ha ha. You know she's done some set work. I guess that's what got her put there in the first place."

"Well, honey," Carole said, putting a hand on Finn's arm. "That's the government now." She flicked a glance at Kurt. "People are assigned where they're needed, unless they have another job."

"Yeah, but, she's _Rachel_," Finn said. "She should be singing on a stage somewhere."

"Well, the faster we get building, the sooner there'll be a stage for her to sing on," Burt said. "Look, I get it, Finn. This isn't what she wanted. I think everybody's got a bit of that going on. But it doesn't have to last forever. Once some of this stuff gets built, she'll be able to find another job. Everybody's got to do things they don't want to do."

"You don't," Finn said sulkily, stabbing at his plate.

"Yeah, well, that's 'cause my job actually _does_ something." Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Kurt and Carole exchanging panicked glances. Nice to see them united for something about once, he thought sourly. Let them see how it felt to be stuck in the middle. "Singing on a stage doesn't get buildings put up or get people fed, and that's what we need right now."

"But she's better than that!" Finn said, frustrated.

"Nice, Finn. Real nice," Carole said caustically, and Burt knew that he'd won at least one ally with that outburst of Finn's. "Glad you think that highly of your parents."

"I didn't say- I mean-" Finn threw down his fork, frustrated. "I'm just saying that it's _Rachel._"

"I notice you don't cry over Brittany working in your father's shop instead of dancing," Carole pointed out.

"It's not- you just don't get it!" Finn threw his fork down and stormed out.

"You know," Burt said into the silence, "I keep forgetting that you guys are still kids. Every now and then, I get reminded."

Kurt rolled his eyes at him. "I'll go talk to him." He put down his own cutlery and had the presence of mind to grab a jacket before he followed Finn out into the night. Burt and Carole exchanged commiserating glances.

"It's not that I _want_ Rachel to be miserable-" Carole began.

"No, I get it," Burt cut her off. "It's been over a year. They should be getting used to the idea now that things have changed."

"And that the worst problems of Lima weren't manual labor." Carole put her fork down and sighed, leaning her cheek on her hand. "I always wanted more for Finn than the life we were living. But what I wanted was for him not to live that day-to-day, paycheck-to-paycheck existence. I wanted him to be able to _enjoy_ his life, not have to spend every minute about bills and where the next mortgage payment was coming from. That was what I meant by 'better'."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Burt said. "I know Kurt always wanted to get out of Lima and I got that, but there were other reasons."

Carole nodded. They ate in silence for a while, until the flap moved and let in a blast of cold air, as well as Finn and Kurt.

"Sorry," Finn said stiffly, sitting back down at the table.

"It's all right," Burt said as Kurt settled down more primly. "You better?"

"Yeah." Finn was still staring at his plate, not quite meeting Burt's eye. "I'm fine."

He wasn't, but Burt decided to let it go, especially when Kurt said, "So. Who's up for splitting this bottle of wine that Grayson gave me for helping him with her proposal?" and produced a bottle from his satchel. Carole squealed and nearly knocked over the table, and even though Burt was a beer man, he couldn't help his own smile. Decent liquor was hard to come by these days, and although the bottle would have been cheap back on the Colonies, right now, it was something of a treasure.

Carole and Kurt began figuring out how to open the bottle and what glasses they should drink it from. Both of them looked happy and flushed, and it reminded Burt that yeah, this was his family. He turned to his stepson, who was still sulking, and touched his arm. "Hey. We okay?"

Finn looked up, and for a moment, he looked very young and vulnerable again as he searched Burt's face for approval. He must have found it, because Finn nodded. "Yeah," he said, smiling a little half-smile. "We're okay."

"Good." Burt sat back. "It'll all work out, Finn. Just give it time."

"Yeah," Finn said. "I know." He seemed to be looking at Kurt as he spoke, but when Burt checked again, he decided he was just imagining it.

***

The ubiquitous "Supply" was a series of huge, cavernous freight storage compartments of three landed ships. A lot of the Fleet's food was stored there, as well as cigarettes, alcohol, basic first aid supplies, sanitary supplies, paper, and any other disposable items, as well as items that were recovered from ships. Burt went up to Supply quite often, because it was one of the better places to locate parts and pieces, and occasional tools. He was deep in thought, puzzling over a problem with a () a customer had brought him, when a familiar, far-to-cheery voice greeted him.

"Mr. Hummel!"

Burt snapped out of his thoughts to see Rachel standing behind the counter, all smiles. He was so surprised that he forgot to be polite. "What are you doing here? I thought that you were assigned to a construction crew.

"I was. But Kurt talked to some people and told them about my inestimable skills and how valuable of a contribution I can make, and here I am." She spread her hands in front of her, indicating the supply counter.

"So, wait. _Kurt_ got you this job?"

"Well, I _am_ quite qualified," Rachel said with an indignant sniff. "And I am something of a Fleet presence- my boss has seen my reporting and she did quite like it." Rachel's gaze shifted to the side, and Burt suspected "quite like it" was a Rachel-term for "didn't laugh in my face." "But yes. Kurt was my primary reference." She tossed her hair over her shoulder and pulled out a pad. "Now. What can I help you with?"

It wasn't that Rachel was bad at the job. She got him what he needed, the forms were filled out, and Burt knew it would probably make going to Supply a lot more tolerable in the future. But the fact that Kurt had pulled strings to get Rachel this job bothered him a little. He told Kurt that the next time he saw him, but Kurt just shrugged.

"Isn't that exactly what networking is?" Kurt asked. "Making connections so that later, people are willing to help you?"

"Yeah, but-"

"That's all it was. Rachel was perfectly qualified for the job." Kurt shrugged again. "Just like you're perfectly qualified to run your own business."

"Yeah, well-"

"Besides," Kurt continued. "I owed Finn a favor. Helping Rachel find a job was the least I could do."

"Yeah." Burt frowned. It was really hard to put his finger on what was bothering him. If they'd been back on Lima, it wouldn't have bothered him at all. Maybe he was just thinking about it too much. Yeah, that was probably it. It was all just networking and friends helping friends.

***

The alarm went off. "You're an asshole," Puck muttered, turning over and pulling the pillow over his head.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Kurt wasn't exactly thrilled to be up at this hour either, but he didn't have a choice. He turned the alarm off and pushed off the covers, wishing he could just stay in bed. The tent wasn't too bad, but the bare dirt floor was cold, and when he managed to get outside, the sun was only just breaking over the horizon.

He was at the door of _Colonial One_ fishing for his ID in his satchel when Gaeta said, "Excuse me."

"Good morning," Kurt replied stiffly, stepping aside. Gaeta already had his own identification out. He beeped himself in and opened the door as Kurt fumbled for his own.

"I see you've become a human resources expert now."

Kurt stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"I saw that you made a request for a friend of yours to be put in supply."

"Okay, now you're just being petty," Kurt snapped. "Everyone does that, and it's not like she wasn't more qualified to handle supply than do construction work. Believe me, Rachel Berry on a construction site would be a nightmare for anyone working there."

Gaeta stalking in the door without another word, and Kurt assumed he'd won that round. He followed Gaeta in. "While we're on the subject, I don't suppose you had a chance to look over the latest draft of the supply guidelines that I left on your desk last night."

"As a matter of fact, I did." Gaeta gestured for Kurt to follow him to his office. "I have… concerns."

"You always have concerns," Kurt muttered. "How did you manage to read it all last night? Don't you have a life?"

"No," Gaeta said shortly, unlocking his office. He dropped his own case next to his desk and picked up a sheaf of papers. There was more red handwriting on them than black type. Kurt stared at it for a long moment, and then looked up at Gaeta.

"You're joking."

"Not in the least. Several sections are questionable under the Articles, and several others go against Caprican law."

"Who said anything about sticking to _Caprican_ law?" Kurt sneered.

"Not to mention that your grammar is atrocious," Gaeta continued as if Kurt hadn't spoken. "You desperately need a college writing class."

"Well, take that issue up with the Cylons. I'm sure they'll be delighted that in addition to destroying humanity, they're helping to destroy language arts."

Gaeta sighed heavily. "You really enjoy being obtuse, don't you? In fact, I-" A giggle from the hallway cut him off. He went still- extremely still- and his face turned pale. Curious, Kurt turned around to see who could possibly have that effect on him.

He didn't know the woman. She was young, probably only few years older than Kurt, and tall and thin. She had long hair and a tight, wrinkled skirt, and most importantly, she was leaning on the arm of Gaius Baltar, who was laughing with her. And there was no way- absolutely no way- that anyone could assume anything other than that they had spent the night together, especially as she nibbled his ear. Kurt snapped back around to face Gaeta.

It was all there, written across Gaeta's face. Gaeta knew exactly what had happened, and Kurt could see exactly what that knowledge had done to him. For a moment, Kurt felt intense sympathy, especially as Gaeta visibly pulled himself together, lifting his head up and focusing his eyes back on the paper.

"As you can see," Gaeta said, his voice surprisingly even, "I've marked several passages where the Quorum should have issues, and that the President will under no circumstances approve. This proposal is too close to a prison rationing system."

"I'm sure the Vice President will appreciate your analogy," Kurt said, taking the proposal back. He hesitated. "Do you… do you need anything?"

"I need to do my work." Gaeta pulled out his chair. Kurt stood awkwardly for a long moment, and then nodded. After all, he and Gaeta weren't close. As much as the movies might say this was the moment for them to confide in each other and pull out the ice cream, Kurt knew enough to know that wasn't how real life worked. He stepped back. "If you-"

"I'll be fine, Hummel," Gaeta said, already getting a pen out and writing a list on a pad. "Report to the Vice President. I'm sure _he's_ actually waiting."

Kurt nodded and left. He wasn't sure why he felt a tug. Gaeta meant nothing to him. In fact, Kurt had known this day would come and had assumed that popcorn would be involved as he watched the destruction of a professional rival. Sympathy hadn't figured in much. But then, Kurt knew exactly how it felt to lose someone, to have life kick you in the balls.

Screw that. Everyone knew what that felt like, and Gaeta was no different. Gaeta had made it clear that this changed nothing. Kurt pulled his shoulders back, raised his chin, and took the proposal back to his desk. He had a lot to go through before he met with Tom.

"So how many of the kids do you think we'll catch here tonight?" Carole shouted to Burt as they made their way into the bar tent. It was loud, smoky, and crowded, and easily the warmest place on New Caprica.

"I'd say at least four," Burt bet. He scanned the crowd, and sure enough, he spotted Mike, Puck, and Sam talking with what looked like were probably some of Puck's marine buddies. "You see a table?"

"Not really, but I- oh!" Carole waved, and Burt followed her gaze. It took him a moment to recognize Xeno Fenner. He was sitting at a table with four other people, pointing to a pitcher of something in the center of the table. Carole grabbed Burt by the arm and elbowed them a path to get over there.

"Carole!' Xeno's smile was warm as they approached. "Have a seat."

The man who sat next to Xeno looked vaguely familiar to Burt. He extended his hand first to Carole, then to Burt. "Galen Tyrol. And this is my wife Cally."

"Burt Hummel. We've met."

Burt didn't recognize the young man sitting next to Tyrol. He stood up an offered his hand. "James Lymon, but everybody calls me Jammer."

"Nice to meet you, kid," Burt said as he shook Jammer's hand, and then sat down next to Carole.

"Congratulations on your election, Galen," Carole said, taking off her coat and sitting on it. "Union president, huh? That's pretty big."

"Yeah. Too bad it doesn't pay." Tyrol poured them both drinks. "How've you been, Hummel?"

Burt shrugged. "Can't complain."

"Of course you can complain," Xeno said bitterly. "We're on New Caprica. Carole- have you heard the rumors about the labor shortage for construction? They want to move some of our workers over to the crews."

"Wait, I thought they were just cutting positions at plant," Jammer said. "Consolidating.

"They are," Cally said. "And opening positions on the construction crews. Where do you think all those people out of a job are going to go?"

Jammer shrugged. "A job's a job."

"Yeah, but you actually know which end of a hammer to hold," Cally pointed out. "Besides, it's not like the military, where people should be ordered around into positions. It sets a dangerous precedent."

"And it's a terrible idea," Carole added. "We're working at capacity as it is."

"Won't stop them," Cally predicted glumly.

"Which means we'll have to extend the shifts of the people who stay," Carole said with a sigh. The two women exchanged commiserating glances.

"Be nice if the government could sort their asses from their elbows," Xeno muttered, picking up his glass. "How the hell are we supposed to get anything done when they keep changing the orders from day to day?"

"Rumor has it that Zarek and Baltar are at each other's throats half the time," Jammer said, looking like he was relishing the gossip. "I guess the honeymoon's over."

"Yeah, well, they're both a pair of idiots," Tyrol said with a shrug. "Either way, Gaeta says he's pretty sure that this labor reassignment thing is a go. I guess if they could get more construction workers, it wouldn't be such an issue." Tyrol frowned. "You're not on the construction crews, are you, Hummel?"

"Nah. I've got a repair shop over near the marketplace," Burt said.

Xeno whistled through his teeth. "I heard it was hard to get private businesses approved. How'd you rate that?"

Burt shrugged. "It's a repair shop," he pointed out. "Not like I don't have a lot of work."

"And our son works for the Vice President," Carole added dryly.

"That'd do it," Jammer said.

"Nah. Burt's right," Galen said. "Lots of repair work. But man, we could use you over on the crews."

"They can contract me if they need me. I like being independent. I've had my own business for years- and since we've been on these ships. I'd rather not stop now."

"Well, keep it in mind," Tyrol said. "We really can use every worker we can get."

"I will," Burt said, but the idea still wasn't appealing. He understood, and he wasn't against actually doing the work, but it just felt like it would be a death of a dream, and of himself.

***

"You don't mind, do you?" Burt asked Carole as they headed home later.

Carole looked like she had to focus on walking. "I don't mind what?"

"That I don't join the construction crews."

"Why would I mind?" Carole asked. "It's not like any more money would really help us, and besides, owning your own business has always been so important to you. I don't mind at all."

Burt smiled and wrapped his arm around Carole's shoulders. He'd known her answer even before he asked the question, but he was still glad to hear it.

***

He wasn't getting better.

Kurt had thought that the nightmares about Blaine would decrease, and that the pain would lessen. After all, that was what had happened the first time. But they weren't going away, and neither was anything else. It was related to Blaine- he _knew_ it- and he had to do something to make it stop. Which explained why he was here, outside the tent of someone he hadn't spoken to in months. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and knocked on the pole.

"Yes?" The woman who answered was vaguely familiar, with long, messy blonde hair and a scowl.

"I'm looking for Sam Anders," Kurt told her.

She moved aside. "He just went to the head down the street. Come on in."

Kurt followed her in. The tent was warm and close and cluttered, with mismatched blankets on the bed and a beaded curtain on the back wall. The woman put a kettle on the hot plate and then extended her hand. "Kara Thrace."

"Kurt Hummel." Her hand was rough with calluses. He recognized her name now, though- he'd read it often enough in news reports and heard Finn and Santana and Mercedes talking about her. _Starbuck._

"How do you know Sammy?" She was making conversation and it was exactly the sort of question Kurt might have asked someone who showed up looking for Puck, but it was so hard to answer.

"We… he knew someone I knew. On Caprica."

"Yeah?" Kara shook her head. "That was a frakked up place, Caprica. Even before the Cylons hit it. You from there?"

"No, I'm from-" Kurt stopped, because the tent flap opened and Sam Anders came in. He saw Kurt and stopped dead, recognition lighting his eyes.

"Hello," he said quietly. Gently.

Kara looked surprised, staring at Sam like she thought he was crazy. "There something I should know?"

Sam ignored her. "Kurt, right?" Kurt nodded. "Yeah, I thought so. How can I help you?"

"I just… I just had some questions." Oddly enough, Kurt found that if he looked at Kara instead of Sam, he could talk much more steadily. "About Caprica. About Blaine."

"Oh. If you want, Kara could lea-"

"Maybe I should have asked before," Kurt overrode him. "But I just… I sort of didn't want to know. But I can't… he's still…" he swallowed. "What was it _like_ down there?"

Sam sighed heavily. "You don't want to know that, Kurt."

"I do. That's the thing. I thought he was dead for almost a year, and then I get him back and I think we'll be together, but before I find out _anything_ about that year… he dies. I loved him so much, and I know so little. I don't know what it was like for him or what he was thinking or feeling- I don't even know where he slept or what he ate. And I can't help thinking that if I just knew a _little_ more, maybe it would help me. Maybe I could let him go because there wouldn't be all this mystery."

"Or maybe it would make things worse," Sam said. "Look, Caprica was… it was _hard_."

"I know that," Kurt said evenly. "It's not enough."

Sam sighed. "I don't know what you want-"

"A high school," Kara said suddenly, setting an empty mug down on a table. "They lived in a high school."

"Kara-"

"They slept in classrooms, and most of them didn't have beds. But they had blankets on the floor." She poured hot water into Kurt's mug and dropped a tea bag in. "They ate in the cafeteria, and about half the windows were broken. It was in a very wooded area."

"I see." Kurt tightened his hands around his mug and looked directly at Kara's face now. She wouldn't flinch away from the truth, and he knew it. "How often did the Cylons attack?"

"They didn't attack the school at all until the end. It was the Resistance attacking them."

Kara continued talking, painting a factual, merciless picture of Caprica. Kurt gathered that she hadn't been there long, but she told him everything that he wanted to know. As she spoke, Sam sat back, arms crossed, eyes dark. The mug of tea cooled under Kurt's hands as he let everything wash over him.

"Did you meet Blaine?" he asked when Kara stopped talking. "He was my age, shorter than me, curls, and extremely good-looking?"

"Probably, but I don't remember him. Sorry, kid."

Kurt turned to Sam. "Please. Tell me about Blaine." His voice was more even than he would have imagined it.

"He was a good kid," Sam said finally, "but he was just that- a kid. It took him quite a while to adjust to how things were." He was trying to be as unemotional as Kara was, but he couldn't do it. His face wasn't quite right, and it gave away the fact that Caprica was still a wound that was unhealed. "Can I ask you something? Why me? Why not Shannon?"

"You sang at Blaine's funeral," Kurt said. "You told me later he taught you 'Blackbird'. It just made sense."

"Shannon knew him better."

"And she knows me." Kurt turned to Kara again. "It's different when she knows both of us."

Kara nodded stiffly, and Kurt could see it on her face- she understood. She completely understood what he'd wanted- a cold, impartial, factual account of Blaine's last days that he could take away, without the speaker seeing anything in his face and stopping because they were worried about hurting him more. Someone who could tell him the truth. Sam Anders couldn't do that, because the truth still hurt him. And knowing that- knowing that whatever Sam thought about Blaine and Caprica actually hurt him…. It wouldn't help, would it? As the realization that Sam couldn't help him sunk in, Kurt just felt very, very heavy, and very, very tired. It must have shown on his face, because Sam clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"I know." Kurt stood up. "Thank you." He turned to Kara, who smiled grimly. "Thank you," he repeated.

Kara shrugged. "I'm sorry I can't help you more."

"It's all right." Kurt pulled himself up straighter, lifting his chin. "I should go. I have a lot more work to get done tonight."

"Listen, if there _is_ anything I can do," Sam said. "If you want to talk about this later or something-"

"No. That's all right. Thank you." Kurt forced a smile. "Goodbye." He was out of the tent before either of them could say another word.

The air was cold on his face as he walked back to his own tent, and the wetness on his cheeks made the cold worse. He focused on that, on how his skin would be chapped and dry, instead of the sinking feeling in his stomach and the aching emptiness in his soul.

***

The bells rang, and when Burt saw the new arrival, he couldn't help grinning. "Hey, Galen. How are you?"

"All right." Galen ran a hand through his already messed up hair. "Tired."

"Yeah? How's Cally? She holding up okay?"

"She is, but she's not sleeping, which means-"

"Which means you're not sleeping," Burt finished for him. They both laughed. "So what can I do for you?"

"Listen, we've got a problem down at the site," Galen said. "The crane's down."

"Oh, frak."

"Yeah, that's what I said. I can see where the problem is, but it's really a two man job to try to fix it. Normally, I'd haul Cally in on something like this, but Doc Cottle said she's not supposed to be doing heavy lifting. You said you're open to contract, and that you were a mechanic back on Gemenon?"

He didn't even have to think about it. "Brit, I'm going down to the construction site."

Brittany poked her head out of the back. "All right. What do you want me to do if Mr. Warnitz comes in?"

"Get the specs from him, and make sure he pays you half upfront. Got it?" Brit nodded, and Burt reached behind the table and grabbed his toolbox. "I'd almost pay you to actually work on a real engine again. Let's go."

Working with Tyrol on the crane was easy. Burt had his shop, and Brit was great, but it was different, having someone who understood engines to work with. By the time the sun set, they had the crane going again.

"I've missed that," Burt admitted as the engine turned over. "I like my job, but it's just not the same."

"You know, if you were on the construction crews, you could play with heavy machinery all the time," Galen said.

Burt snorted. "You trying to tempt me?"

"Yes." Galen sighed. "I've got some of my guys down from the _Galactica_, but part of the deal when the Old Man let me and Cally muster out and come down here was that I didn't get to take some of the others. My best crew members are still up in space. I've found a few others that know their stuff, but I could use a few more. Make my life a lot easier."

"You're offering me a job," Burt said. "I mean, you're _really_ offering me a job."

Galen shrugged. "Yeah. Guess I am. Or, at least, a more regular contract, if we could figure out how to make it work. I know you want to stay independent."

"Yeah."

"But your kid- you said he works for Zarek, right? He could help you get it through?"

"I could ask," Burt said dubiously.

"I'm serious," Galen pressed. "Think about it. I know one person isn't going to tip the scales of society or anything like that, but we really could use you."

Burt nodded. "I'll think about it." He still couldn't let the idea of his own shop go, but contracting with the government… that was big. He could do that, if the government would let it happen.

***

Getting a contract turned out to be a lot harder than Burt thought.

First, there was the paper trail and the red tape. They were told that they needed to see Hilbert over in the construction organization. Hilbert thought it was a great idea, but independent contracting wasn't something they'd had to deal with yet on New Caprica, and he couldn't really help them, but maybe Stallis could? Stallis had absolutely no idea why Hilbert would send them to her since her duties focused around the operation of the electrical substation, but maybe Gavin could help them out.

"Look," Burt said at the seventh office he went to, "just tell me no."

"Excuse me?" the clerk said. "But I thought you wanted to be able to contract with the labor crews."

"I do! But if you guys aren't going to give me the damn contract, just tell me no instead of sending me running around from office to office until I give up. This red tape is bullshit."

The clerk looked offended. "Mr.-" he glanced at the paper again, "Mr. Hummel, sir, I assure you that I'm trying to help you."

"Then just tell me what I need to do! Who do we see about this?"

The clerk pushed his glasses up his nose with a sigh. "I told you. You need to go to-" he was interrupted by a knock on the door. At first he looked irritated, but when he saw who it was, the clerk straightened up a bit. "Mister," there was a long pause, "Hummel," the clerk finished weakly.

"The Vice President needs the engineer's report on his desk by three o'clock today."

"He'll have it."

Kurt looked between his father and the clerk. "What's going on?"

"Er, nothing, Mr. Hummel."

"Really?" Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Dad? What are you doing here?" The clerk cringed on the word 'dad.'

"Tyrol and I have been trying to get something set up that I can contract with the construction crews but keep my business. But I can't give anyone in this frakking building to give me a straight answer." It felt ridiculous, complaining about this to his _son_, but he was so frustrated that the answer burst out of him.

And maybe for the best. Kurt turned on the clerk. "Is this true?"

"Well, I-"

"It had better not be. Because any idiot should know that, in order for the government to hire an independent contractor in a labor-hour contract, form 286-B and form 5C-94 must be filled out. Those forms can be obtained from the Small Business Liasons Officer, who is…?" he paused, arms crossed, one hip thrust out, eyebrow up.

The clerk swallowed. "Um, Gina Hayworth?"

"Right. Gina Hayworth. And once they fill out those two forms, they need signatures from Yesmef, Omi, and Smith. _Right_?"

"I guess. I-"

"And I would think," Kurt overrode him, "that any planning clerk worth his job would _know_ this, wouldn't you?"

"Kurt," Burt began. "Don't-" but the clerk was already scampering off to get the relevant forms. Kurt turned back to Burt, his face full of satisfied pride.

"That should get you started." Kurt took Burt's arm and led him out of the office into the hall. "I'll take you through it. I've got an hour."

Burt snorted. "An hour. You think you can get me through this in an hour?"

"No, but I can get my three o'clock meeting postponed in an hour, and that will give me a little more time." Kurt smiled at him. "We'll get your contract done before the end of the day."

Burt breathed out slowly. "Thanks, kiddo." Kurt smiled smugly, patting Burt's hand.

It _did_ go a lot easier with Kurt at his side. People actually answered Kurt's questions, and moved to help him when he said he needed something. "You really that important?" Burt asked incredulously, when the third person folded under Kurt's verbal barrage.

"Not me," Kurt admitted. "Tom. But they know that _without_ me, they don't get in to see Tom."

"Thought they'd be more inclined to see Baltar," Burt said.

Kurt held his gaze evenly. "And what do you think Carole would be telling you about that right now?"

"That Baltar doesn't get a thing done? Sure, but I didn't think you'd be saying it."

Kurt looked away. "I'm not. I'm just saying that Tom is a very important man in this administration, and that people know it. Most people, anyway." He frowned. "I think we just have a few more steps, and then you'll be all set. Come on. Let's go make a few more aides and clerks tremble in their horrendously unfashionable boots."

***

"You did it? How the hell- last time I talked to you, it looked hopeless." Galen was staring in awe at the completed contract.

"Yeah, well. Guess that's what having a son in the administration does for you." Burt shoved his hands in his pockets.

"You'd think a few years of military service would have the same effect," Galen said bitterly, turning a page. "Nice to know Baltar's so appreciative of that." Burt wasn't sure what to say to that, but Galen looked like he was in another world. "You know, with you having this contract, you're technically a member of the crew. You could join the union."

"I don't know," Burt began.

"It would give you some protection and some bargaining room," Galen pointed out.

"That's why I just got a contract. That's not something a lot of people can say," Burt said. "I've got more security than most people do."

"Security that's only worth the paper it's printed on. A contract meant something on the Colonies, when there were courts to uphold it."

"There are courts here."

"Yeah, but how many of them can take on the government and win?"

"Let me think about it," Burt said. It was becoming his stock answer. It seemed like everyone wanted him to pick a side. Burt had thought they were done with sides when the Cylons stopped chasing them, when the election was over, when everything settled into place on New Caprica. Guess they weren't. "I'll think about it," he said again. "But I've got some work to get done. Union, contract, or nothing, I don't get paid unless I do that."

"Good point," Galen laughed. "I'll see you on the site tomorrow."

***

Kurt trekked out of _Colonial One_ and into the cold night. His shoulders hurt and his eyes were sore, but the exhaustion went even deeper than that. All he wanted to do was curl up in his bed with a book and a cup of something hot, read for a half hour, and then sleep as long as he could. However, the light in the tent indicated that that probably wasn't going to happen. He flipped it open and slipped inside. Lauren was sitting on Puck's bed, a glass of something alcoholic in her hand. Puck was sitting in Kurt's chair, elbows on his knees, listening to her intently.

"So they had us pinned down and the truck was fifty yards away. There was no way we were all going to make it- there were like, thirty of those mechanical toasters, and we just had the one grenade. So some of us covered and Sara ran for it. You should have seen her- the girl was _fast_. But they got her anyway." Lauren took a deep swig out of her glass. "One of the Centurions blew a hole through her, and she didn't die right away. Even when we were shooting I could see her…" Lauren drank again, and Kurt listened, paralyzed.

Puck reached out towards Lauren, and then pulled his hand back. "Was she the first one? That died, I mean?"

"Nah," Lauren said. "This was after that raid that took out half the Resistance. I didn't even know her that well."

"So what did you guys do?"

Lauren shrugged. "We shot at them until we thinned them out a little, and then we tried for the truck again. Blaine ran for it. He got the truck going, and we all got on. The whole way back to the school I thought they were going to get us from behind," Lauren was saying. "Anthony, Sean and I sat in the back on rear guard." She laughed. "At one point, Anthony got carsick and had to hurl because the roads were so bad. Sean and I had to hold him up so he didn't fall out and split his head open while he was yakking."

She laughed and Puck laughed with her, but Kurt just stood frozen until Puck finally noticed him standing there. "Hey! Didn't see you come in. Come on- come have a drink with us." Both he and Lauren smiled, and Kurt knew the invitation was real. But the conversation was one he just couldn't handle right now.

"No, thanks for the offer," he said, fumbling for some clothes, "but I have to get back up to _Colonial One._ Lots of work. I just wanted clothes for tomorrow."

Puck snorted. "You just want to take a shower up there tomorrow instead of in the showers down here."

"So I don't like mud." Kurt was surprised how normal he sounded. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, well, if you change your mind, knock before you come in." Puck waggled his eyebrows, and Kurt rolled his eyes back, and then stepped back out into the cold.

He could stay, Kurt knew that. Maybe he _should_ stay. Maybe hearing about all the things that happened to Blaine on Caprica and those nine months apart would help him. Maybe once he got through the worst of it, hearing those stories would fill in some gaps and maybe even patch some holes. Maybe it would help. Then again, it probably wouldn't. Because he'd heard enough from Lauren and Coach Bieste to know that there was nothing good about Caprica.

_Colonial One_ was almost entirely dark and empty when he returned. Kurt was grateful for that. They had a few blankets, and the old couch was comfortable. He let himself in and headed towards Tom's office.

"Hello?"

Kurt froze. "It's just me," he shouted back.

He should have recognized the voice immediately. Gaius Baltar came out from his office, looking around quizzically. His face brightened when he recognized Kurt. "Oh. Hello. I thought you'd gone home for the evening."

"No. I'm here."

"Well, that's rather odd, because I seem to recall a conversation with Tom Zarek where he complained that you were most definitely not getting enough sleep. He told me that he had ordered you to go home and take some time off."

"Oh." Kurt arched an eyebrow. "What else did he say?"

He clasped his hands behind his back, approaching Kurt with a knowing sort of smile. "You are very inquisitive, aren't you? Do you really care that much what other people say about you?" The tone of his voice was light and teasing.

"I care what my boss says about me," Kurt said, letting himself tease back.

"So you _do_ care what I think." Baltar winked. He was so coy that Kurt couldn't help laughing.

"Yes," he said. "I care what you think."

"Mmm." Baltar raised an eyebrow. "You look… you look a little worse for the wear. Usually you're so put together. Are you all right?" Kurt opened his mouth to say he was fine, but nothing came out. "Kurt?" His voice was still stuck, and now tears were burning behind his eyes.

Baltar looked alarmed. "Come in," he said, opening the door to his office. "Come in here. I have just the thing…."

Kurt followed. Baltar's office was messy- scattered papers and an ashtray in the corner. There was another small desk that Gaeta used in here, and the neatness of that desk only emphasized how cluttered the President's desk was. There was also the couch against the wall of windows, and Baltar gestured for Kurt to sit on that. Kurt obeyed, and Baltar opened a liquor cabinet in the corner of the room and began mixing two drinks.

"So, tell me. What's troubling you?" Baltar said when he sat on the couch, handing Kurt a heavy glass of cut crystal.

The drink was _strong_. On the other hand, Kurt had certainly tasted enough bad booze to know that it was comprised of extremely good liquor. He made a little noise of appreciation, and Baltar smiled back. "I don't really want to talk about it," he said.

"Well, that's certainly permissible," Baltar said, looking pleased. "We can talk about something else while we drink. I suspect the drink will do you more good than conversation, anyway. Speaking of which, you have been conspicuously absent at several of my more recent functions."

Functions. Baltar's… parties. Kurt had heard about them, but had never gone. "I didn't know I was invited."

"Kurt." Baltar put his hand on Kurt's knee, which was just… _weird._ But then, Baltar was Caprican, not Gemenese. Kurt jumped, but he didn't pull away, especially as Baltar leaned in a little, a conspiring twinkle in his eye. "You're always welcome." He sat back. "In fact, it might really do you some good. Get your mind off other matters."

"Mmm." Kurt sipped his drink again. The worst of the bitterness was gone, but so was the best of the warmth.

"You should come more often," Baltar pressed. "You're young, you're attractive, and you're very smart. You should be networking and rubbing elbows with people who could really improve your career."

"I'm the aide to the Vice President," Kurt pointed out. "I do quite a bit of that already."

"Yes. But you have to consider that Tom might not always be the horse to bet on. This is politics, and the landscape changes constantly. That is, I suppose, what some see as the beauty of it." Baltar rolled his eyes and knocked back his drink, then got up to pour another. This time, he brought the bottle back and set it on the table in front of them. "You need to form other strong connections, with others who can help you."

Kurt had the feeling that pointing out that he regularly attended Quorum meetings and dealt with key people in the labor union was not the response Baltar was looking for. So instead, he just nodded, trying to conceal his skepticism and probably failing miserably.

Baltar didn't seem to notice, however. He slumped a little on the couch, crossing his legs sloppily. "You know, it's really a shame that we haven't had more time like this. It's nice to be able to get to know my staff."

"It's been almost half a year. You've gotten to know me."

"Yes, I know that you're one of the best hands with a needle and thread left in existence, and one of the few who truly appreciates that not all men want to look like they wandered off a ranch or a military vessel. I know that you work quite hard at your job, but being an aide to a politician- even the vice president of the Colonies- was not your original ambition. And I know that you have a beautiful voice, because I've heard you sing. It's quite remarkable, you know."

"Thank you."

"_You_ are quite remarkable, you know." Baltar sat up and leaned forward, and his hand settled on Kurt's knee again. "I mean that. There is a certain… beauty about you that others can miss." Kurt stared at him, his mouth hanging slightly open. Apparently Baltar took that as flattered shock, because he leaned in and kissed him.

For a long moment, Kurt could only sit there, shocked into stillness. Baltar's kiss was firm but gentle, and his hand came up to caress Kurt's cheek. Nothing at all tentative. Smooth. Kurt pulled away.

"What are you doing?" Kurt asked.

Baltar laughed in a manner that was obviously supposed to be both self-deprecating and charming. "I thought it would be obvious. I was kissing you."

"No." Kurt scooted back. "No. You weren't."

"I assure you, I was. I'm a very intelligent man, Kurt. I am quite aware of what a kiss is." But he was smiling. "And I'm quite sure that you do, too." Kurt nodded, still staring at Baltar like he was insane. Baltar's smile slipped a notch. "You _have_ been kissed before, right?"

Kurt goggled at him. "You don't know? I thought everyone knew about-"

"Oh, yes. That's right. How could I forget that charming little story? I'm so sorry." Kurt shrugged. "So you _have_ been kissed."

"Yes."

"So this isn't virginal shyness."

"No." Kurt couldn't help laughing a little at that. "Definitely not." He might have only had one partner, but he and Blaine had done plenty of exploring together. But the feeling of someone that wasn't Blaine kissing him was definitely new. "I just… you're the _President_."

"Exactly," Baltar said with a smile. "I am the most powerful man in the world." His voice was pitched low and sensual. He leaned in.

"Wait," Kurt said, sitting up straighter and moving back. "You're serious? You're really trying to get me into bed?"

"I'd think that was obvious."

"No." The word came out of Kurt's mouth before he could even think about it. "No."

Baltar looked offended. Not like Karofsky had looked that one time, but instead almost downcast, like he was wounded. "You're my boss," Kurt reminded him. "That's what you said at the beginning. And… oh my. I'm in trouble, aren't I? I just turned down the _President that I work for._ Oh no. I'm so fired."

"No. You're not. I'm just… incredulous." Baltar backed up, giving Kurt his space. "You are a man who appreciates the finer things in life. I just assumed that it meant you were interested in the luxury of pleasure."

"Um, right. No. Not really. I mean…" Kurt kept edging away. "Thank you for the drink. Really, sir. I appreciate it. But I really did come back here to get some work done. I…" he cast around for why he had to be here _now._ "I had to make a call up to the _Galactica_," he said. "And the reception is best now."

"By all means." Baltar was composing himself quickly, although Kurt could see that he was still deeply offended. But he didn't appear angry. Kurt decided it was best to get out of there before that changed. He hastily dropped something between a curtsy and a bow, more just because he wasn't sure _what_ the etiquette was for refusing to sleep with the President, and then turned and practically ran.

***

"I'm serious, Mercedes," Kurt laughed "He thinks sleeping with him is a _luxury._"

"You're joking. You are absolutely joking. There is no way he said that. That's just too much, even for Baltar." Mercedes' voice was crackly over the wire.

"No. I swear, Mercedes. He really said that." Kurt sat back and his chair creaked dangerously. He'd originally had no real thought of calling the _Galactica_, but when he retreated to his office, he realized it was the perfect idea. It turned out to be more perfect than he knew. Mercedes' voice and laugh was the exact balm he needed. "I'm just worried it's going to get me in trouble and he's going to fire me."

"He won't," Mercedes said. "Baltar isn't subtle enough to do it without going through Zarek, and Zarek would just laugh at him. Besides, for him to be upset means he'd have to admit you didn't want to sleep with him. He's probably in there right now calling up some blonde to smooth over his wounded ego."

"And you would know this because…."

"Hello, the whole CIC knows. We've only had to listen to Gaeta on the subject for the past year. Well, listen to Dee. Gaeta doesn't talk about it, but Dee spills. Hey, speaking of that, what about you and Gaeta?"

"Mercedes-"

"No, I know. I'm just teasing you. I still don't understand why you were so gung-ho for electing him."

"Who, Gaeta?" Kurt asked, putting his feet up on his desk.

"No, Baltar. We all knew he was a floozy."

"Yes, but since when does that impact how someone does their job?"

"And Baltar does such a stellar job as President," Mercedes said dryly. "The last time we talked you spent the whole time complaining that it took him two weeks to approve of a materials-scouting mission. And the time before that you were telling me all the things he was still saying about Admiral Adama. Face it, Kurt, your President sucks."

Kurt sighed. "I have to admit that I didn't think he'd be quite this bad."

"Well, what were you expecting?"

"I thought- Tom thought- he'd lose interest after a few months. That he'd be content just to have the position and the authority and the parties and all that, and he'd leave all the real work to us. We were expecting the playboy. What we weren't expecting was for him to fight us."

"Imagine that. Baltar has a mind of his own!"

"Ha ha."

"You could try blackmail," Mercedes suggested.

"I've thought about that, but there isn't anything I've found that Baltar's ashamed of."

"Kurt, it was a joke."

"I know."

"You sound serious."

"Mmm." He tapped his fingers against the desk. "You know, talking about the people he sleeps with doesn't work. But maybe if I put it out there that he hit on me and I _wouldn't_ sleep with him…."

"On the off chance that you're not joking, don't do that, Kurt," Mercedes said sternly. "It will only be trouble for you."

"I was completely joking," Kurt lied.

"You could try recruiting Gaeta," Mercedes suggested. "I know you guys don't get along, but he really is a good guy."

"So you say," Kurt said dryly. "But he's completely in Baltar's pocket."

"Hello, Baltar's sleeping with other people. Gaeta's madly in love with him. That's, like, the perfect recipe for the scorned man to screw over the President. Come on! You can use this!"

"Maybe you should be the one in politics."

"I'd do a better job than Gaius Baltar."

"Hey! He's your President, too."

"Not my fault," Mercedes said cheerfully. "Besides, I answer to the Admiral first." Kurt blew a raspberry at her, and Mercedes laughed. "Speaking of which, the Colonel's on shift in a few minutes, and I don't really feel like getting busted. Not that anyone cares up here anymore, but still."

"No, you should go." Kurt wished she was close enough to hug. "I miss you, Mercedes."

"Aww, I miss you, too, Kurt. Listen, take care of yourself down there, okay? And trust me- talk to Gaeta. He really could help you."

"I'll keep it in mind. Bye." Kurt hung up the receiver.

The office seemed silent in the aftermath of his conversation with Mercedes. Kurt got up to stretch his legs, and looked out one of the small, round windows at the settlement below _Colonial One_. It was dark outside- a lot darker than it ever got in Lima. There were points of light, but they were fewer and farther between than they should be.

Everything was farther behind than it should be.

Kurt peeked out into the hall. Most of the lights were off, so he decided to take the risk and made his way down to the kitchen. As long as he didn't encounter Baltar, he was fine. He was in luck- the halls and the kitchen were empty.

There wasn't real milk anymore, but there was dehydrated powder. It didn't taste particularly good, but with enough vanilla, cinnamon and sugar, it was tolerable. Kurt made himself a cup, heating it slowly in a small pot, and leaned against the counter as he waited. He was tired.

He poured his milk into a mug and made his way back to the office. He settled on the couch. If nothing else, the warmth of the milk helped relax him. What a night. Between…whatever that was back in the tent with Lauren and Puck, and _Baltar_ hitting on him, and talking to Mercedes… Kurt drained his mug and lay down on the old, broken couch. If nothing else, sleeping here meant he'd get a hot shower in the morning. There had to be some little perk to this night.

***

At one point, there might have been rules about who the bar tent would serve. There might still be- Kurt thought he should know that as a member of the administration. But at least one bartender had given up on them, and there were nights that New Directions knew that they could get served without any questions. Kurt usually liked those nights, with all of them that could make it grouped around the table, shoulder to shoulder, but tonight he just felt tired. Part of it was because he'd been up so late talking to Mercedes the night before, but he knew it was more than that. The others didn't seem to notice though- they had other things on their minds.

"So you're going to help deliver Tina's baby?" Sam asked Quinn incredulously. "Really?"

Quinn sipped her drink. "Dr. Robert's orders," she said lightly.

"And you're okay with this?" Sam asked Tina.

"If it means I get this baby out of me and get to drink alcohol again some day, yes," Tina said, making a face at her glass of water. "If I ever needed a drink, it was today."

Mike nodded. "Potty training is pure evil."

"It shouldn't be much longer, should it?" Puck asked. "I thought the baby was supposed to be here yesterday."

"It was," Tina said sourly. Everyone laughed.

"Hey, wait." Quinn's eyes narrowed and she leaned forward and examined a necklace that Tina was wearing. "Is that…?"

Rachel broke in, excited. "Is that an engagement pendant?"

"It is," Tina said happily. She looked at Mike and took his hand. "I finally asked Mike to marry me."

"You finally said yes," Mike said, and kissed her on the cheek. "I asked you first."

"I just wanted to do it on my terms," Tina said, glowing. A round of congratulations broke out, and then the table fell rather surprisingly silent. Kurt found that everyone was looking at him.

"What?"

"Aren't you supposed to be bouncing in your seat right about now squealing about proposals and weddings?" Quinn asked.

"Yeah, I kind of thought you'd start planning it already," Mike said. He looked a little guilty and then mouthed _I was kind of counting on it._

"Oh. Sorry." Kurt snapped out of it. "I am sorry. I don't know what came over me. Yes. I am excited. What are you going to wear?" he asked Tina.

Tina launched into an assessment of her clothing, and Kurt listened, nodding enthusiastically and rejecting ideas. He was happy for them- _everyone_ was happy for them, especially since Mike and Tina were so obviously happy. But he kept playing with the soma bracelet around his wrist, and when he left the bar that night, he didn't think of the wedding at all.

***

Carole entered the tent, tossing her heavy coat to the side. Burt had been in bed but not sleeping. "Hey. You okay?" He glanced at the clock by his bedside. Two fifty four- _long_ past when Carole was due home. "What's wrong?"

"We're definitely losing a third of the workers."

Burt sat up. "What? What happened?"

"Oh, nothing like that. Everyone's okay." Carole ran her hands through her hair. "But they're behind on construction of the apartment complex. So some idiot decided that they need more labor, and pulled from our plant."

"Oh." Burt rubbed his eyes and propped himself up on one elbow. "Wait. How the hell is that supposed to work?"

"Longer shifts for the workers. What do you think?"

Burt groaned and fell back against the bed. "And let me guess. You get to break the good news."

"How'd you ever figure that out?" Carole thumped down on her side of the bed. "It's not fair."

"That you have to tell them? I'll say." Burt turned on his back and snaked an arm around Carole. She shifted so she was under the covers and rested her head on his shoulder.

"It's not just that. It's that all these people now have to make up the work that we're losing. It's that these people who were water treatment workers- who were _finally_ getting the hang of their jobs- now have to go do something else. And nobody will get a raise, no one will get extra… but if you don't show up, your basic rations are gone."

"The union's going to be howling," Burt said darkly.

"That's the worst of it. They _deserve_ to howl. They should howl. But I- we- have no power to change it. It's government orders."

Burt cringed. "Ouch."

"Yeah." Carole sighed. "I might be late home for dinner tomorrow night. I'm pretty sure I'm not getting out on time."

"I'll say. I'll cook."

Carole kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks, hon. You're about the only thing worthwhile on this lousy excuse for a planet."

Burt wasn't sure he'd go quite that far, but he was far too wise of a man to argue right now.

***

"You need to do something," Burt told Kurt the next day.

Kurt rolled his eyes and leaned back against the scaffolding near the work site. "I don't know what you expect me to do."

"Talk to Zarek. Talk to _Baltar_."

"I've talked to Zarek. He agrees with you."

"So? Talk to Baltar, then. Make him see reason."

"Have you _met_ Gaius Baltar, Dad? He considers himself the most intelligent man left in existence."

"Well, he is, isn't he?"

"In some things, yes. But he _knows_ it. Which means a kid with a high school education isn't going to change his mind about anything. If I even got to speak to him anyway."

"Too low ranking?" Burt asked.

"That's part of it." Kurt pressed his lips together. "Baltar's got… priorities."

"Yeah, and that's something else I've been wanting to talk to you about. You aren't going to those parties I hear about up on _Colonial One_ are you?" Kurt looked away. "Kurt…."

"What? I _have_ to go to some of them, Dad. It's networking."

"It's trouble. I've heard rumors about them. They sound pretty wild, and not just booze."

"Like I would do anything besides have a few drinks," Kurt said huffily. "I'm not getting into trouble. I promise."

"Yeah, well, I worry. It's a father's job." Kurt rolled his eyes again. "Listen, if you can see the chance to say anything-"

"I will," Kurt cut him off. "But it's not going to happen."

"Yeah," Burt said with a sigh. "I'm getting that message."

***

The conversation was still on his mind the next day. "At least people have work," Brittany said when Burt told her a simplified version of the story. "And the apartment complex won't grow on its own. I tried watering it, just in case, but I'm pretty sure it won't work."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." On one level, it certainly did make sense. But Burt couldn't help being annoyed. The union's points were valid, and no one seemed to be getting that. He shook his head and tried to work on the bookkeeping, but the bells jangling to announce a guest distracted him.

"Brittany? Mr. H?"

Brittany looked up. "What's going on, Sam?"

Sam looked frantic, but at the same time, happy. "It's Tina. She's in labor, and the doctor says the baby will be here soon."

Burt couldn't help smiling. "Well, it's about damn time."

***

Not all of New Directions was waiting outside the medical tent when Burt and Brittany got there, but only because several of them were still on board spaceships. Those who weren't were there. Quinn let them into the tent an hour later, and Mike came forward carrying the baby, walking like he was walking on eggshells. The kids crowded around him, all eager for the first glimpse of the baby. Mike was glowing, not willing to let the baby out of his arms. Tina, on the other hand, just looked like she wanted to sleep for a year.

"So what's this big guy's name?" Puck asked, tickling a blanket-swathed foot.

"Well, we think we know," Mike began, "but we wanted to ask Kurt."

"Me?" Kurt looked surprised. "It's your baby. Name him whatever you want."

Tina pushed herself up to sitting. Kurt got the hint and moved over to her bedside. "The thing is," Tina said, taking Kurt's hand, "we wanted to ask you… we'd really like to name him Blaine."

"If that's okay with you," Mike added hurriedly.

"It's…" Kurt looked back and forth between Mike and Tina, and then to the baby himself. "It's your baby," he said again, trying to sound formal. But between the tears streaking his face and the trembling in his voice, no one was fooled. Tina pulled him down into a tight hug.

"What's the middle name?" Burt asked, more to break the tension than anything else.

"Michael," Tina answered proudly.

"Blaine Michael Cohen-Chang," Mike said.

"Very nice," Carole said, her voice radiating approval, and the eager inspection of the newest member of the New Directions family began again.

Burt was not at all surprised when Sam and Rya were the first to leave. He imagined that this was all very painful for them. He also wasn't surprised when Kurt slipped away soon after. He tried to follow, but Kurt was walking so quickly that Burt got the message- he didn't want to talk. He stood out in the relative quiet of the open air, and he was surprised when the next defector came: Quinn. She'd cleaned herself up some and she looked understandably tired, but at the same time, her face was so lined and haggard that in the dim lights she looked ten years older.

"You okay?" Burt asked as she stopped by him.

Quinn was looking straight ahead as she drew in a deep, shaking breath. "Yes," she said finally. "I'm glad it was a boy."

"Really? Why?"

Quinn exhaled slowly. "I don't know. I feel like it's a message from the Gods. That there's never going to be another Beth. That I don't have to worry about that."

Burt's brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of what Quinn was saying. "You were worried about Beth coming back?" he hazarded.

"I was worried that every time I delivered a baby- any baby- I would think of Beth. That I would want them to be Beth," Quinn clarified. "Don't get me wrong, I wish Beth hadn't died," she added with a bitter laugh, "but I can't look at every baby and see her and expect to stay sane."

Burt had thought these kids were too young for a lot of the things they did. They were too young to be soldiers, pilots, and Marines, putting their lives on the line. They were too young to be crucial lynchpins in the communications systems of the Fleet, too young to be aides to politicians, too young to be doctors. They were too young to get married, too young to have babies, too young to lose parents, and too young to die. But it hit him hardest when he realized that they were too young to lose a child already, even if that child was one they had given up. He wished he could hug Quinn, but the way she stood made it clear that she did not want to be touched.

"Yeah," he contented himself with saying. "I'm glad it was a boy, too."

***

Blaine. They named the baby _Blaine._ Kurt paced back and forth in the small tent, turning on his heel and wiping away the tears that kept spilling down his cheeks. Was it _ever_ going to go away? Every time he thought he was safe, every time he thought it was _over_ and he was getting better….

He wasn't mad at Tina and Mike. He'd meant what he said- it was their baby- and anyway, Mike and Blaine had been close. He wasn't mad at all. That's what he didn't understand.

The bottle was on Puck's bedside table, and Kurt was sure Puck would understand (if he even noticed). He grabbed it and poured out a drink with a shaking hand, then knocked the glass back. The whiskey burned on the way down, making his eyes water. He gulped air, and then poured himself another glass. The whiskey began to spread warmth through his body, and he began to relax. He sat down on his bed, cradling the glass in his hands.

The shock began receding as his insides became numb, and Kurt knew it was like the first time he'd seen Gaeta's eyebrows. They'd been a reminder that had come at him from left field and hit him hard, but now, he never even noticed them. In time, he wouldn't even think of his Blaine when he saw that baby- the name would belong to the baby alone. It was going to be okay. It was just the now, just this moment.

He finished his drink and kicked off his shoes, curling up under the covers. He wasn't sure he wanted to be awake when Puck came home, and he certainly didn't want to talk about it. The best solution was probably to go to sleep, and maybe when he woke up, things would be better.

***

"We need to talk about something," Puck informed Kurt when he came home from work.

"What?" Kurt asked, rubbing his neck and shoulder. "Don't tell me you're getting on my back about the labor agreements as well."

"Huh? No. Why should I give a shit about that?" Puck was rummaging through his whole six shirts. "We're not dealing with it. It's about tonight."

"What about tonight?" Kurt said. "I really just want to go to bed early."

"Uh, yeah, that's kind of the thing. Lauren said she'd spend the night tonight."

"Oh."

"And it's the first time since she came up from Caprica, you know? So, yeah. Would you mind getting lost?"

Kurt closed his eyes. "No. Fine."

"Great. Because it's about time." Puck looked so frakking happy. Kurt turned away and began sorting through his own clothes, packing a bag. "And it's not like it's so bad, right? She said you can use her bed. And you and Rachel get along and shit."

"I know."

"Dude. You knew this was going to happen."

"I didn't _say_ anything!" Kurt protested.

"Yeah, but you're thinking it."

"I'm not! I'm not thinking what you think I'm thinking."

"You are. Look, Kurt, I get it, okay? You think I don't think about Beth all the time? I know it's hard. But you've got to get on with your life, man."

Kurt slammed a shirt down in anger. "When did I say a single word about Blaine?" he snapped. "I am tired, Puck. I am tired and it has been a very long day of listening to people argue and trying to sort things out and trying to corner the President long enough to get some straight answers with regards to the- oh, why am I even telling _you_? My point is, Puck, this has nothing to do with Lauren or Blaine and everything to do with the fact that I am frakking tired!"

His voice had risen to a shout by the end, and Puck stepped back, hands up. "Okay, okay. You don't have to shout. Frak, you could have just _said_."

"You didn't have to assume." Kurt finished packing and pulled the bag up on his shoulder. "I assume I can come home tomorrow night?"

"Yeah. Of course."

"Good." Puck was watching him like an angry, hurt puppy dog. Kurt sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap like that. It just really has been a long day."

"Yeah. Yeah, I get that." Puck held out his hand in a fist-bump style. "We cool?"

Kurt bumped his fist against Puck's. "We're fine," he said. He headed out into the dim light of evening.

Rachel was waiting for him, excited and bouncy when he arrived. "I've got it all planned out. First, we'll figure out songs that I can sing for when they start open mike night at the bar tent, and second, we'll figure out how to get them to start it. I'm sure you can pass some ruling or something."

"Your knowledge of basic civics is appalling," Kurt said, but Rachel's plans were like a balm on his soul. He settled down on Lauren's bed. It was made, although not neatly, with a faded quilt and no pillow. Rachel, in all her glory, was off in her own world, talking about songs and appropriate lyrics and being the voice of an apocalypse. Kurt laid back and listened to her talking, making little humming noises until he drifted off to sleep.

He woke hours later in a cold sweat, lurching out of bed and sitting up straight. The lamp was still burning, and Rachel grabbed his arm.

"Kurt! Are you okay?" She sat down on the bed beside him, her body warm in the cold air of the tent.

"I… I…."

Rachel's face was a mask of sympathy. "A bad dream." It wasn't a question.

"You knew?"

"You were talking."

That news didn't help. "Puck said he'd wake me up if he ever heard me doing that again."

If possible, the sympathy actually increased on Rachel's face. "He doesn't know what to say."

He stared at her. "You've talked about me. You've all talked about me."

"Well, of course. We're worried about you."

"Why is everybody so _worried_ about me? I'm fine! I've been going to work! I've been getting things done! I still eat, I still get dressed- I am still living my life!"

"I know. But you're not _you._"

"Who is anymore?" His heart was finally starting to slow down. "After everything everyone has been through, who could possibly have not changed?"

"Your dream was about Blaine, wasn't it?" Rachel said. Kurt looked away. "It's just… you were calling his name."

His eyes burned hot, and he had to swallow several times before he could answer her. "It's just every time I think I'm getting better, it hits me out of nowhere like that and I can't even- what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to get over this?"

"We'll help you, Kurt."

"How? How will you help me? Can you make this stop?" Kurt demanded, turning back to her. "Can you just rip my heart out of my chest and make it stop hurting? Can you make me forget him- even though I already am?"

"You're not forgetting him!"

"I am! I can't remember exactly how he smelled and I can't feel his sweater under my cheek and I can't even hear his voice! Not like I used to be able to! This is what happens when someone dies, Rachel! I know!"

"Yes, I know, your mom, but-"

"Not just my mom! I know what it's like when _Blaine_ dies, all right? I know how it feels to find myself forgetting him and how it feels when I let him go, and _I don't want to do that again_!"

"Kurt-"

"I don't want to do that again, Rachel!" Kurt repeated. "It's not fair!"

Rachel was crying now. "No," she said. "It's not."

Something about the way she said that shot through him. Maybe it was because she was so calm, maybe because for once, Rachel wasn't making it all about her. She sat there watching him, shivering a little in the cold night air, her eyes reflecting back the little bit of light from the lamp.

"It's not fair," Rachel repeated. "And you shouldn't have to go through this. But you're not going through it alone. We all want to help you."

Kurt realized he'd better pull himself together. Rachel looked really upset now, like he was going to jump off a bridge (not that New Caprica had them) or finding Puck's gun or something like that. Kurt took a deep, shaking breath, trying to get himself under control. Because as bad as losing Blaine like this hurt, he had no intention of doing anything like that.

"I'm okay."

"Kurt…" Rachel came closer, hesitated, and then when Kurt didn't pull away, hugged him. He let her, and after a moment, he hugged her back. The truth was it felt good, and it did calm him down a lot. He hugged her tighter, and when he pulled away, they were both wiping their eyes.

"Better?" Rachel asked, as if he should be.

"Not really, no," Kurt admitted. "But back to where I was."

"If you want to talk about it-"

"I don't. I'll be all right, Rachel. Everyone else is."

"No one is, Kurt. And it's okay to need-"

"I'm fine."

This time Rachel backed off. They sat there in silence, and then Rachel put her arm around his shoulders, and Kurt leaned his head against hers. "Do you want me to stay right here for the night?" Rachel asked. "With you, I mean?"

Kurt sighed. "I'm probably not going to sleep."

"I don't mind."

She was warm. Kurt sighed. "All right." He lay down, pulling her with him, and together they snuggled up under Lauren's covers. "Thanks, Rachel."

"Any time." Rachel tucked her head under his chin.

Kurt was sure he would stay awake, the images from his dream constantly going through his mind. But Rachel's warmth and slow breathing was soothing, and he was asleep before he knew it.

"You look tired, Mr. H," Brittany said when Burt came in from a job.

"I am. I was up all last night."

"Oh. Sex?"

Burt snorted. "Not because I had it."

"Neighbors?" Brittany asked sympathetically. "I know sometimes when Santana comes down, we get a little loud."

Burt closed his eyes for a long moment and then opened them. "No," he said, resigned to the fact Brittany was gong to tell him more about her sex life than he ever wanted to know. "Mike and Tina's baby. Blaine was up for a couple hours last night. I gave them a hand."

"With the sex?" Brittany asked, confused. Burt was about to reply when he was saved by Sam rushing inside, doubled over and gasping for breath.

"There's been an accident at the plant."

Burt was on his feet immediately. "Carole?"

"She's not hurt. But a lot of other people are."

"Brit, stay with the shop. Sam, let's go."

The plant was in a mild state of chaos when they got there. An entire walkway had collapsed. Burt could see where the supports had snapped. The impact of the crashing walkway and broken the walls of one of the tanks, and there were several inches of standing, filthy water throughout the plant.

"It's not just the people hurt," Sam said, picking his way through the water. "This is going to shut down the sewage to three different sections of the settlements, and the overload in the other sectors could foul up the works even more.

"Shit."

Sam's grin was small and crooked. "Yeah. That's kind of our problem."

Burt saw Carole standing with a few others. Her hair was a mess and she was sweaty and there was a streak of grime and blood on one cheek, but she looked unhurt. His breath came out in a woosh, and he felt a little calmer and better able to deal with the situation.

"Hummel!"

Burt turned. "Galen. Didn't know you were working here."

"I'm not. I got called in from the construction site." Tyrol surveyed the wreckage. "Think we can get this mess put back together?"

"When do they want it by?"

"Right now."

Burt whistled through his teeth. The thing was, straight construction wasn't really his area of expertise. He could build a bookshelf and make stairs and put up a park, but a structure that people had to walk across safely was another story altogether. "We could use a few- what do you call them? The structural guys?"

"Mechanical engineers? No kidding. Looks like we're going to need some better materials, too. That concrete support there…" he trailed off, pointing. The two of them went closer to investigate. Burt didn't know much about concrete, but he was pretty sure that it wasn't supposed to crumble like that.

"This is going to take a hell of a lot of work to get it back up," he muttered.

Tyrol nodded. "And it looks like we're the ones doing the job. Come on. Let's get figuring this out." And whether Burt wanted to be or not, he was on the job.

***

The job took two weeks. And it _had_ to be done, so no one ever talked about payment. And then all the red tape, all the frustration, all the people not willing to give them answers and no one knowing what the hell was going on- all of that began again.

"Come _on_," Galen insisted when they cornered Xeno Fenner. "We've been working on this job for two weeks. You must have some idea!"

"I've been trying!" Xeno insisted. "But I keep getting sent from office to office, or told I needed approval weeks in advance, or that the building materials weren't budgeted for and-"

"The hell with this," Burt growled, and stormed out of the office.

"What the frak- where are you going?" Galen caught up with him.

"Straight to _Colonial One_," Burt said. "I know just who we need to see."

***

Kurt was furious. It wasn't just that his father wasn't being paid, but also definitely the principle of the thing. There never should have been any question in terms of payment, and he cursed the Sanitation Committee for not setting this up sooner, like when the catwalk crumbled two weeks ago. He spent the entire day going from office to office, harassing people into giving him forms, badgering people to sign off. Now all that was needed was one last signature, and Kurt did not have the patience for this fight at all.

"Look. It's not that hard!" Kurt said, for what felt like the millionth time. "Just get him to sign off on the labor guidelines!"

"How? Buy taking his hand and making him write his name?" Gaeta shot back. "If that was legal, I would!"

"It's your job," Kurt said, leaning back against the file cabinet in Gaeta's cramped office. "This isn't fair."

"You don't think I know that? I've got Galen Tyrol after me, too. I know it's not fair." Gaeta picked up a packet of papers and waved it in front of Kurt. "What do you want me to do?"

"You? You're the one still sleeping with him," Kurt said caustically. "Use it."

"Oh, so you think that means I can get Gaius to do whatever I want?" Gaeta snapped the words out, ruffling some papers for emphasis.

"Of course." Kurt waved a hand in exasperation. "Just hold out on him. Or offer to do something he wants."

"Spoken like a true romantic expert." There was pain in Gaeta's voice and face as he said that, but he leaned forward, ready for combat. "You've seen the 'interns.' You know it's not exclusive with us. If you think I've got that kind of power, you're delusional. I've got no more power over Gaius than you do."

Kurt nearly stamped his foot in frustration. "Then get him to approve this! It's my _father_, Gaeta!"

"I am trying!" Gaeta roared. "What do you want from me? I am doing what I can, but the President is extremely busy and-"

"You mean that half the time he's hung over, a quarter of the time he's drunk, and the rest of the time he's completely disinterested in anything having to do with politics!"

"No! I mean that-" Gaeta fumbled. "I mean that he-" Kurt crossed his arms and smirked, waiting for Gaeta to say it. He didn't. "He _will_ sign it."

Kurt sighed. "When?"

"Excuse me?"

"_When_? When can I expect this mythological signing to take place?"

"It will happen." Gaeta was visibly pulling himself back into the smooth, professional face he presented every day. It wasn't often that Kurt rattled him quite this badly. Kurt sighed.

"You and Baltar-" he began, but Gaeta cut him off.

"This is not me and Gaius. This is an administration, not a war. In case you've missed it, Hummel, the four of us are all on the same team. And if you'd stop looking down the road and stay in the present, you would see that!"

Kurt drew back. "I _do_ see that."

"You don't. You look at this administration and you see what _you_ can accomplish. What's going to further you and Zarek and your own agenda. That's not how democracy works. That's not what's going to make _New Caprica_ work."

Kurt snapped himself into a straighter posture. "Then remind Baltar of that," he said. "Because I'm pretty sure he's the one who's forgotten, since the rest of us want those guidelines signed." He pulled himself together. "And tell him to shave more often. You have the _worst_ case of beard burn." Taking advantage of Gaeta's furious silence, Kurt stormed out of the room.

***

Burt was showing Brittany how to solder a connection when Kurt came into the shop, looking exhauted. "Dad?"

Burt's stomach sank. "Bad news?"

Kurt's smile started slow and then spread to his whole face, and he extended a handful of money. Burt jumped up and hugged him, and Brittany squealed. "I knew you'd do it!" Kurt nodded. He looked so tired though.

"Hey. Are you okay?"

Kurt waved it off. "Fine. Just… it's been one of those days." He gave a little laugh. "One of those _weeks_."

"You really had to twist some arms to get this, didn't you?" Burt had suspected as much, but he needed confirmation. Kurt just shrugged, but that was enough. "Thank you, Kurt. I appreciate it." Burt hugged him, and Kurt hugged him back tightly. He held on a lot longer than he normally would, and Burt wished he understood what was going on.

"You want to come over for dinner tonight?" he asked as he released Kurt. "Sam and Rya are coming, and I think Mike and Tina and the baby."

"I'd like to, Dad, but I have a lot to catch up on today. Can I take a rain check?"

"Course. You're welcome any time. You know that."

"Thanks. Well, I need to go find Tyrol, and then I'd better get back to work. I'll see you later." He waggled his fingers at Brittany in a goodbye wave, then disappeared. Burt watched him go, frowning.

"He seem okay to you?" he asked Brittany.  
Brittany shook her head. "Not really. But he's been going on, just like everybody else."

"Yeah."

"At least he paid you," Brittany said. "No one thought he was going to be able to do that, did they?"

Burt nodded. That right there was a whole other issue, and it was one that he realized he was going to have to deal with in a different way. Kurt might not always be in the government, and Burt needed a better way of making sure he had some security than relying on his son. It was time to take actions of his own.

***

"I've got a question for you," Burt said as he slid into bed beside Carole.

"That doesn't sound good." Carole eyed him suspiciously. "What is it?"

"How would you feel if I joined the union?"

Carole sat up. "The union?"

"Yeah, I mean, I know it puts us on opposite sides of the picket lines and all that…" Burt tried to joke, but it fell flat. "Yeah. The union. Galen Tyrol's been on me about it, and the thing is, he's right. There's no really good reason for me not to join, except that it feels a little weird to me that you can't. I mean, if we were back on Lima it wouldn't matter no matter what, 'cause we're not in the same business. But on New Caprica…."

"Except the thing is," Carole said slowly when Burt petered out, "it's not _me_ you're up against."

"Yeah, well, I'm not working over at your plant. But still-"

"That's not what I mean." Carole sighed. "Burt, you know I agree with the union's goals, right? I want to see people's rights protected. That people should be paid, and that they should have some security, that when they're hired and trained for a job, that's the job they'll be doing."

"Well, yeah. Back on Lima, you _were_ in the union." Burt shrugged. "I'm really mostly joking about us being on different sides."

"Good. Because _I_ don't have a problem with you joining the union, but Kurt might. No one's said it yet, but the union isn't about labor versus management. It's about workers versus the government."

"It's about protecting peoples' interests," Burt said.

Carole snorted. "From who? The Cylons?"

"I get it," Burt said curtly. He stared down at the blanket and then sighed. "I'm gonna have to talk to Kurt about this."

Carole laid a sympathetic hand over his. "Should I hide the cutlery?"

Burt chuckled. "Nah. He can take it. And if he doesn't, that's his problem." He kissed Carole goodnight and turned off the lamp. He had no idea if Kurt would take the news easily or not, but he'd find out tomorrow.

***

"You're overreacting," Kurt said. They were walking down the marketplace, looking for a vendor selling something for lunch.

"_I'm_ overreacting? I've lived with you for all your teenage years, and you tell _me_ I'm overreacting?" Burt said, laughing.

Kurt shrugged. "Well, you are. Really, Dad, I don't see any reason for either of us to be upset over this. It's the _union_, not a secret terrorist organization. Look- there's Xiaolin Ma and her soup. Let's get some before it's gone. So what's Brittany going to do?"

"She'd be union, too, I guess," Burt said. "I hadn't really thought about it. It's her decision." Kurt's incredulous expression spoke volumes. Burt sighed. "Yeah. She'll be joining, I guess. I don't know. As long as the business is going, Brit's okay. She just has to deal with me."

"Which is comforting," Kurt said. "I'd work for you in a second, if you did something that involved the least bit of style or finesse."

"Gee, thanks, kiddo." Burt shook his head. Fortunately, they were at the front of the line.

"I've got it, Dad," Kurt insisted, slapping down the money. Burt started to argue, but Kurt just shook his head. "It's a celebration, right?"

"I don't know about that," Burt said, taking his mug of soup. "I'm just joining the union."

"But it's a good thing," Kurt said, blowing across his own mug. "I mean, the reason you were so upset about telling me is because labor relations have been less than ideal."

"Yeah, those are the exact words your stepmother uses," Burt muttered sarcastically.

"We can make this work," Kurt continued, only a twinkle in his eye betraying that he'd heard Burt's comment. "We'll actually listen to each other."

"You're my teenaged son," Burt said. "When was the last time you listened to me?" But he was laughing. Kurt was right. They cared about each other enough to actually take the time and patience to work things out, to really _communicate_. Together, maybe they could get something hammered out. They probably wouldn't change the world, but maybe they'd make it a little bit better.

***

"So it was a lousy day?" Puck asked Kurt as Kurt finished the last of his drink.

"It was. Between all the idiots in the government and just… _everything_…." Kurt shook his head, and Puck didn't even need to ask him to elaborate. "I just want it to get better. I want everything to get better."

"You know what you need?"

"I need another drink," Kurt said, peering mournfully into his empty glass.

"You need another drink," Puck agreed. He sloshed the whiskey into the glass. "There. Another drink. But you also need to get yourself frakked."

Kurt groaned and dropped his head forward. "I don't."

"You do. Look, I get it. You're afraid of moving on."

"Oh no. Here comes the drunk psychologist." Kurt flopped back on his bed, and then curled around his pillow. "Should I tell you about my mother?"

"No, you should shut up and listen to me, because I am the god of getting laid."

"Which is why we're getting drunk together tonight."

"Do you want my advice or not?" Puck demanded.

Kurt gave him his best flat _whatever_ look. "Just don't sing it."

"Okay." Puck moved to the edge of his bed and leaned forward like some sex guru. "The thing is, you've gotta frak someone you don't give a shit about. Someone you don't even like."

"And why would I want to do that?"

"Because you don't want to meet someone you do like and then frak up the sex," Puck explained. "Right now, you don't want to have sex because you _know_ it's going to suck. You don't even want to look at anyone because you know it's all going to suck. So get it over with. Find some guy and frak his brains out and it will suck, but you won't care because you don't give a shit about him."

Kurt knew he _had_ to be drunk, because Puck was making sense. A lot of sense, actually. He thought about it. "Who?" he finally asked. "I'm not used to this. How do I find someone?"

"I told you, Santana's got this really hot friend up on _Pegasus_. This guy is smoking, and totally hot for dudes. Santana says he's a good guy, too."

Kurt frowned. "Not if he's a good guy."

Puck's eyes practically bugged out. "What? Why not?"

"There are under fifty thousand people left, right? How many of them are gay men who are not completely and utterly repulsive? Come on," Kurt prompted when Puck didn't answer. "You're the one with the 'mad math skillz'."

Puck frowned. "Probably not that many," he admitted.

"Right. And if this goes as badly as I think it might, this guy isn't going to want to frak me ever again, right?" Puck nodded. "So do you think I'm going to waste a good, hot guy on a rebound frak?"

"Oh. Oh, yeah. That's a good point," Puck agreed. "So who are you going to find? Come on, you've got to have _some_ offers."

"You're ridiculous," Kurt said, lying down on his bed. The bed was starting to spin. "Absolutely ridiculous."

"Yeah, but I'm right. Find someone and frak 'em, and that'll get you over the hump. So to speak." Puck was chuckling at his own cleverness. Kurt ignored him. But at the same time, part of him admitted that Puck had a point. That same part of him also pointed out that if he ever wanted to follow through with it, there was an option. Kurt had never considered it seriously before, but for what was prescribing, it might work perfectly. He'd have to think about it more, once he could actually thing. But for now, he just closed his eyes and enjoyed the floating feeling of drunkenness that made it hard to think about anything else.

***

The apartment complex was taking shape, a dark, stunted bulk against the gray backdrop of New Caprica's low mountains. Only two floors had been added so far, and the apartments were nothing more than concrete walls, or in most cases, steel frames, but even the promise of the building was encouraging.

"I can't wait for the apartments to be done," Brittany said as they began setting up. "Even if I still have to still live with Quinn."

"What's wrong with living with Quinn?" Burt asked, checking his acetylene levels.

Brittany shrugged. "She smokes. She's not Santana. And she brings her work home. I'm pretty sure that means organs."

"Or case files," Burt said, shaking his head. "I'll just be happy to live someplace with heat again. I almost forget what it feels like to be warm. Heat and a hot shower. At least, if we get these heating ducts into place. Come on. I need to help me brace these before I weld them." Not that Burt had known the first thing about heating ducts. But he could handle a torch, and that had been enough for Galen Tyrol to pull him in for the day.

They were just getting everything into place when they heard the crashing of boards and the screams. Burt and Brittany both ran out of the apartment where they were working just in time to see the crowd gathering. Burt nudged her. "Run to the med tent and get a doctor." Brittany nodded and took off, running at top speed. Burt elbowed his way through the crowd to see what had happened.

No one was dead- that was the first thing Burt noticed, and he breathed out a sigh of relief. But there was a man lying on the ground moaning in pain, and the way his leg was bent made it pretty clear why. His jeans were stained with blood, and it looked like he had a few other nasty injuries as well. Above them, a broken board swung erratically in the stiff breeze. It looked like the scaffolding had broken.

It seemed like a long time, but the spell was broken by Brittany pushing through the crowd, pulling Quinn along after her. Burt pulled in a breath- of all the doctors, Quinn probably wasn't the best one for something this severe. But Quinn's eyes raked over the man on the ground, taking in the situation, and when she spoke, her voice was calm and professional. "Get me a long, thin board, some rags or some rope." She fished something out of her pocket. "I'm going to dope you," she told the man on the ground, and pressed it against his neck. Instantly, the man's face cleared and he passed out. Finally, a few people brought a stretcher over and the man was removed, headed for the medical tent to set what looked like a very nasty broken leg. Burt got a good view as they passed, and he had to say that Quinn had a much stronger stomach than he did.

The horrified silence among the crew was slowly broke with little snatches of conversation and whispered speculation. Little by little, people left the site of the accident and got back to work. But a pall hung over the site all day, and Burt couldn't shake the heavy feeling.

The med tent was on his way home, and so he stopped in after work. He found Quinn in a small cubicle, smoking a cigarette as she took notes on a giant text book.

"Those things'll kill you," he said, nodding at her cigarette.

"I know. I'm training to be a doctor." Quinn's tone was dry and sarcastic. She took a deep drag on the cigarette, looking straight at Burt. "It's kind of covered in the books."

"Well, I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't say something about it," Burt said.

Quinn looked mildly amused. "You really do think that you're still the chaperone, don't you? Or sort of the dad of New Directions?" Burt was going to argue with her, but her expression softened into a smile. "It's sweet."

"Well, good." Burt was feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. Quinn had always put him on edge. He met her well after hearing the whole story of Beth and Finn and Puck, which certainly hadn't given him the best impression of her, and then the fact that he was pretty sure that she'd been dating one of the other guys when she and Finn got back together a second time. He also had the impression that Quinn had never thought much of him. He got that impression now, as Quinn sat in her chair staring at him, waiting to speak. He dug his hands into his pockets and charged forward.

"Look, I just wanted to know… I wanted to tell you that you did real good with that guy out there on the site," Burt said.

"Thank you."

"I was wondering how he was doing."

"I can't tell you that," Quinn said with a sigh. "You're not a relative."

"Is he alive?"

Quinn sighed heavily. "Yes."

He knew that was all he was going to get out of her. He looked at her more closely. She looked tired, her hair pulled back into a lank, unadorned ponytail and deep circles marring the skin under her eyes. There was dried blood on her white coat, and her hands were so dry that there were deep cracks in the fingers. "You did good today, kiddo," Burt said again, clapping Quinn on the shoulder.

"Thank you." Quinn's smile was thin. "I hate to be rude, but I…" she gestured at her textbook.

"Yeah, right." Burt backed away. "Thanks for letting me know, Quinn."

"You're welcome." She was back at her studying before he even left the tent. Burt shook his head. It was a tough life, being a doctor on a planet like this.

***

Burt was in his shop working on rewiring a space heater when then bells jingled impatiently. "There's a problem," Galen said with no preamble, coming in and sitting down across from Burt.

"What is it?"

"It's Lasser."

It took Burt a moment to remember who Lasser was, that he was the guy who'd fallen from the scaffolding three days ago and broken his leg. "He okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine. But there's a problem."

"So you said." Burt carefully soldered a wire into place. "Want to tell me what it is?"

"Workmen's compensation," Galen said. "It doesn't exist."

"That's ridiculous. It's got to exist," Burt said.

Galen shook his head. "Nope. Not without a signed labor agreement. The way the construction labor crews are organized, we report directly to the government. And it's not like there's much of a system to begin with."

"Frak." Burt put his soldering iron down. "It really hasn't come up all this time? What about back when the walkway collapsed?"

"People either died or had family that helped. Or neighbors. I don't know- does it matter? There's got to be some sort of formal system in place."

"You're right," Burt said. He sighed and pushed his hat back. "Tell you what. I'll go on up to _Colonial One_ and talk to Kurt. See what he's got to say before we really start pushing it. Might be that he can help us with the wording and who to talk to.

"Okay. I'll take a crack at Gaeta tonight, too," Galen said, and then shook his head. "Workman's comp. Never even thought that would be such an issue."

"Never thought a lot of things would be an issue," Burt agreed. "But we'll get it worked out. Kurt will listen to me."

***

"Dad. It's not that I don't agree with you," Kurt said, his voice strained as he tried to keep his patience. "It's just that the idea of simply putting someone like Mr. Lasser on straight rations isn't going to fly with President Baltar. We'll never get him to sign a labor agreement that involves that."

"That's ridiculous," Burt said bluntly. They were sitting in Zarek's office, Kurt at his desk and Burt on the broken-down couch. Zarek was out at some meeting, and they had the office to themselves. Both of them had drunk two cups of coffee, and Burt had a feeling that the caffeine wasn't helping anyone's mood.

"I know it is," Kurt said. "But he already won't sign anything guaranteeing that people can stay in the jobs they're assigned to because he thinks that people should just be able to pick up a new skill like _that._" Kurt snapped his fingers.

"But they can't."

"I know this. You know this. Gaius Baltar refuses to acknowledge it. You have to remember, Dad, he's a genius." Kurt glanced at the door, like he was afraid someone would come in.

"Yeah, well I'm not, and neither are most of the people in this town. We can't just sit down and learn a new skill, and there aren't many desk jobs to sit down at!"

"I know!" Kurt pressed his lips together tightly for a long moment, and Burt knew he was biting back whatever he wanted to say. "Look. There is no workman's comp system."

"I know! That's what we're doing! We're trying to come up with one!" Burt was just as frustrated as Kurt.

"And I don't know why you think I have that kind of power!"

"I've seen you get things done here before!"

"I've gotten people to do their jobs," Kurt said. "I haven't been able to propose policy change!"

"You got them to build that playground!" Burt protested.

"A playground isn't the same thing as a workman's compensation policy?"

"Why not?" Burt asked. "I get that they're two different things, Kurt. But you changed minds when you wanted that playground. _You_ did that. You can do it now!"

"I had to change two minds for the playground." Kurt picked up his coffee cup, realized it was empty, and set it back down with a decisive clink. "I'd have to change a lot more minds for a workman's compensation policy, and a lot of those people aren't going to listen to a glorified secretary, even if I do work for the Vice President."

"Well, you don't know that until you start trying," Burt said.

Kurt frowned and looked away. He picked up his coffee mug again, set it down, and then stood up. "I'll be right back. I need to use the bathroom."

Use the bathroom or calm down. Burt let him go- they both needed a break. He sat back on the couch himself, exhaling slowly and closing his eyes.

"Kurt's right, you know."

Burt jumped and looked around. Zarek was leaning against the door jamb, arms crossed as he watched him. "How much were you listening to?" Burt asked him.

"Quite a bit. It was interesting, actually. It's not that often I get to see how Kurt's doing without me over his shoulder. It's like giving a student a test."

Burt grunted. "Did he pass?"

"He did, which, given his answer to you, I'm sure you're not completely thrilled about." Zarek came in and sat down in his own chair. "And he's right. People aren't going to listen to him."

"You obviously just did," Burt said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Unless you're going to tell me you've been fighting this one for a while."

Zarek laughed. "Normally, I'd try to convince you that I have, but I think you know better. But I wasn't listening to Kurt. I was listening to _you._ Part of the problem Kurt has is his youth. He's a very intelligent young man, but the fact is that the Quorum members aren't going to let a kid who's barely in his twenties tell them what to do. Kurt's got two strikes against him before he even begins. He needs a champion. Someone older and wiser, that people will sit up and listen to you."

"So you're gonna start fighting for this?" Burt asked.

"I've been fighting. I've been at odds with Gaius Baltar for months now."

"Yeah. So I've heard."

Zarek smirked. "Not really, believe me." He stood up and went over to the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup of the bitter, overheated coffee. He offered the pot to Burt, who shook his head. "We've had a lot of difficulty with Gaius, as you no doubt know. I must confess, I didn't anticipate all of them. I assumed that Gaius would get bored." Zarek chuckled a little. "I thought that he would go off and do… whatever Gaius does."

"Why'd you support him then?" Burt asked.

Zarek didn't answer. He didn't need to, because the answer formed clearly in Burt's mind. If the President didn't do his job, the work would fall to… the work would fall to the Vice President. Oh.

"Did you know that the last impeachment of the President of the Colonies was fifty four years ago? In our two thousand year history, there have been twenty three recorded impeachments."

"Wait." Burt sat back and stared at Zarek, who had gotten up and was looking out the window, his hands clasped behind his back. "Are you saying-"

"I'm just talking history, Burt. Just history. Of course, there are some who would say, 'this has all happened before, and this will all happen again.' But I find that sort of scriptural belief to be irrelevant to governing a populace. Although I suppose others may think differently." He shrugged, rocking back on his heels. "Of those twenty three presidents that were impeached, seventeen were impeached because of a vote of no-confidence."

There was a knock on the door, and Burt looked to see Kurt hovering, waiting to make sure Zarek was done. Zarek grinned widely. "Come on in, Kurt. Your father and I were just discussing history."

"Right. History. By the way, on my way back I ran into Playa. She wants to talk to you about the press conference tomorrow."

"Find fifteen minutes for her in the schedule, will you?"

Burt got the hint and stood up. "I won't take up any more of your time," he said, grabbing his jacket and eager to get out of there. "Kurt, we'll see you for dinner in a couple of nights?"

"Only if you can get Finn to actually leave me some food this time." Kurt smiled and hugged Burt goodbye. His hug was a little stiff, but Burt barely noticed. Zarek's words were still playing in his mind.

He left _Colonial One_ and stepped out into the cold, clear air of New Caprica, hoping it would clear his head. It didn't. The past two hours were still heavy in his head, and the past ten minutes were still just as confusing. With the feeling he was about to get a lot deeper than he wanted to, Burt shook his head and headed home.

***

"He really said that?" Shannon asked. "He really started talking about impeachment and votes of no-confidence?"

"Yeah, he really said that." Burt shook his head. "The thing is, I don't get why he's telling _me_ that. It's not like I'm on the Quorum."

They were sitting in the high school tent. Carole was still stuck at work- she'd sent a message with a runner that she'd be several hours late. Burt perched on a high stool, watching Schuester grade papers as Shannon made soup. It smelled even better than Carole's, which was saying something.

"Well, it's clear what he wants you to do, Cueball," Sue said. "He wants you and your band of merry men to help give him a reason to impeach Baltar."

"What the frak?" Burt asked. "No. There's no way he was saying something like that. And even if he was, there's no way in hell I'm gonna be able to find something that someone in that government can- and that's even if I was going to do it!"

"Well, if people want to get rid of Baltar, that's the legal way to do it," Schuester said. "Make him look as bad as possible."

"Better than shootin' him in the head," Shannon pointed out.

"Yeah, but Zarek was Baltar's campaign manager," Burt said.

"Oh, wake up and smell the politics!" Sue snapped. "Didn't you find it odd at all that Zarek himself didn't run? He didn't run because he knew that he couldn't win, not after blowing up that building all those years ago. So he needed a front, and he crouched down and hid behind Baltar and his psuedo-intellectual looks and his flowing hair that is the envy of our good friend William here. The fact that that is a mystery to you further increases my belief that auto exhaust fumes cause brain damage."

"I thought he was really smart," Shannon said, looking at the others. "I mean, he's Dr. Gaius Baltar. Half the time I don't understand a word that comes out of his mouth."

"Hardly an accomplishment."

"Impeachment, though," Burt said, getting back to the point. "By a vote of no-confidence. Why the hell is he telling _me_ this?"

"Oh, I don't know, Mr. Labor Union. Got any clues?"

Schuester looked up from his grading. "Sue, you're joking."

"Despite my conviction that you wouldn't know a joke if it danced naked in front of you- and good gods, don't let me picture your reaction to that- I'm not joking. If you can't see that he wants to set Baltar up for impeachment and needs someone sufficiently removed from him to get the ball rolling, well, then, you're so myopic you should be wearing glasses even thicker than Wheels does."

It wasn't that Burt hadn't put the pieces together before Sue said that, rather, it was that he didn't _want_ to put the pieces together. Zarek was asking him to make trouble somehow- enough trouble that Baltar would be viewed as incompetent. And that was going to have to be a hell of a lot of trouble.

Like, work stopping kind of trouble. Protest kind of trouble. _Strike_ kind of trouble.

"So, Wanda the Welder, are you going to do it?"

Burt really wasn't sure how to answer that.

***

There was yet another party on _Colonial One._ Kurt wasn't even sure if there was a reason for it, aside from Baltar wanting to have one. Normally, he would have either avoided it or gone for a half-hour or so.

"Are you going to come tonight?" Baltar asked him. "I think it could be very beneficial for you."

Beneficial. This time, Kurt didn't look away. "Yes," he said. "I think I just might."

Baltar smiled.

***

Kurt dressed carefully for Baltar's party. It was supposed to be a big one, and there would be a lot of people there that he might want to impress. Not that leaving the party with Baltar would impress anyone, he was sure, but there would be time before that. Puck was out that night, probably with Lauren, and Kurt was just as glad. If Puck was here egging him on, Kurt had the feeling he'd come to his senses and lose his nerve. With a last look in the mirror and a last adjustment to his tie, he took a deep breath and headed out into the night.

He couldn't hear the party from outside _Colonial One_, but he could see the lights and the silhouettes of the people inside. He swallowed hard, and then entered the ship.

The smell of alcohol assaulted him, and the sound of voices and music. The music wasn't like he'd imagined- not hard, driving dance music. Instead, it was instrumental, classical… classy. The thought made him giggle.

There were a lot of familiar faces, but not necessarily the people he was expecting. The Quorum representatives, the advisors, the cabinet- a few of them were there, but not many. He thought he spotted Tom, but he veered away. He didn't need to answer to Tom tonight. However, the support staff and the interns were there, as well as a lot of people that Kurt had no idea how they related to the administration, but were definitely attractive.

He headed straight for the bar. There was no way he could do this if he wasn't drunk, and whoever was mixing the drinks seemed intent on helping him reach his goal. His first drink was so strong that even Puck might have turned his nose up at it, but Kurt drank it down as quickly as he could.

"Having a good time?"

Kurt nearly jumped out of his skin as Baltar appeared beside him. "Oh. Hi." It was a testament to the strength of the drink that that felt like clever dialogue.

Baltar noticed his cup was empty. "Let me get you another," he said, commandeering Kurt's cup and handing it over to the bartender. Somehow, the drink that was returned seemed even _stronger_, and that was when Kurt knew that Baltar was still intent on getting him into bed.

The room began to blur. It was a pleasant sort of blur, warm and cozy, the kind that highlighted the laughter and the colors of the crowd. It was exactly the sort of drunk that Kurt wanted to be, where his mind was so numb he couldn't think, and he couldn't bring up pictures in his mind. He was aware that Baltar was at his side all night, with the predatory triumph of a lion about to make a kill. No, not a lion, Baltar wasn't anything like a lion. More like a… a weasel. Kurt giggled again.

"What's so funny?" Baltar asked, eager to share the joke.

Aware that likening the man to a weasel would kill his plan, Kurt tried to make a serious expression. "Nothing," he said.

Baltar pouted for a moment, and then tugged Kurt closer. "We could leave," he said, his lips right against Kurt's ear. "I think we've been here long enough, don't you?"

The nervous pit in his stomach that Kurt had been all evening sharpened. "I think so." He let Baltar take his hand and pull him from the room, back into his private office.

Baltar didn't kiss anything like Blaine, Kurt discovered when the door shut behind them. In fact, aside from their height, Baltar was _nothing_ like Blaine in bed. Well, not bed. Before Kurt knew it, he was being hoisted up onto a desk, Baltar working at buttons and pins and layers. Baltar knew exactly what he was doing, but to Kurt, it still seemed like fumbling hands and awkwardness until he was turned around, his hands braced on the desk in front of him as Baltar frakked him from behind.

_This was what I wanted_, he told himself, looking down at the papers scattered across the desk and the familiar handwriting. _This is what I need. After this is over, I can go on._ The sex wasn't bad, especially as he let his body take over and respond. But the sensations were dulled and his eyes stayed fixed on the desk. The pens were lined up and the papers were in a neat stack, the top one being a list of building supplies. The handwriting was familiar, and Kurt tried to think where he'd seen it before. It finally hit him that it was Felix Gaeta's handwriting, and that that's exactly whose desk they were frakking on. Something about the naughtiness of that thought was enough to get him really going, and that was what he was thinking about when he came.

They curled up afterwards on the couch, Baltar's head in Kurt's lap. It was hot and sticky and kind of uncomfortable, but Kurt was too tired to move. He made himself as comfortable as he could, grateful that Baltar was passed out and softly snoring.

This first time after Blaine was over. This was what he had wanted- what he had _chosen_. Kurt closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch, telling himself he was never going to look back and regret this.

Never.

***

The morning came with a pounding head and a boatload of regret. It also came with two very, very angry people standing over them.

"Oh my gods." Heedless of the President of the Colonies' head on his lap, Kurt leapt off the couch and scurried for his pants, his shirt- _anything_ that would shield him from the disapproving glare of Tom Zarek and the fury of Felix Gaeta. "Oh my gods. This is _not_ what it looks like."

"Oh?" Tom asked, arms crossed as he arched his eyebrows. "Let me guess. You were playing triad." Kurt flushed, and Tom's glare deepened. "It's _exactly_ what it looks like."

"Oh gods," was the only thing Kurt could think of to say. He felt like he was going to be sick. Given all of the alcohol he'd had last night and the massive hangover he had now, it was really more a question of when and where than if. He just hoped he could wait until he was out of Tom's view.

Tom was glaring at him, reminding Kurt all too well of when his own father had caught him doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing. The disappointment cut deep. And as for Gaeta… Kurt found he couldn't even look at Gaeta, because the expression on his face hurt in a very different way. What had seemed like a good idea last night now filled him with complete and utter shame. He couldn't even speak- he just pulled on the minimum clothing possible and hurried out the door.

Out in the hall, he took a minute to compose himself and pull his clothing closed. Away from the others he was able to take a few deep breaths and calm down a little. Through the closed door, he could hear Tom and Baltar arguing. That surprised him a little, and he couldn't help stepping closer to hear better.

"Do you have any idea who is father is?" Tom demanded.

"Who his father is? What is this, Sagittaron four hundred years ago?" Baltar asked. "Kurt is an adult, and as such, I really don't care."

"Well, you should. His father is Burt Hummel. Who is, might I remind you, still very much alive and likely to take a flame thrower to _Colonial One_ if he finds out you got his son drunk and slept with him."

"That is _not_ what happened!" Baltar shot back, panicked. "I assure you that it was entirely consensual and-"

"So you say," Tom said. "But do you think Hummel is going to give you the chance to finish that sentence? Let me make it clear, Gaius. I usually don't care who you frak, and I don't give a shit what you have to say for yourself. But when you frak with my assistant, then you're frakking with my reputation and my staff, and the job that I want them doing. Then, I care. Frak anyone else, but stay the hell away from my assistant. Understood?"

Baltar sniffed. "You don't have to be so dramatic about it. The experience wasn't worth repeating anyway."

Kurt stuck his tongue out at the closed door, but pulled it back in hastily as the door opened and Tom emerged. He stopped short and drew up.

"Listening the whole time?" Kurt shrugged, and Tom sighed. "Of course you were. That's one of the reasons I hired you." Some of the anger had faded, but none of the disappointment, and none of the sternness. "What I told Baltar goes for you, too. Stay away from him. It took long enough to put you back together after Blaine died, but at least that was out of my control. This isn't."

Kurt drew himself up. "My sex life is not under your control, or your concern."

"You're right. But how you handle yourself afterwards is. I'm serious, Kurt. I had sympathy for you with Blaine. I won't for Baltar. Frak him again and I'll find myself a new assistant."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now go home and get cleaned up. There's a Quorum meeting later and the last thing I need is you over my shoulder with the 'just frakked' look you've got going. You'd better be back here on time." Tom cast him one last disappointed glare before stalking off and disappearing around the corner. Kurt was about the leave when the door to Tom's office opened. He stopped, and found himself face to face with Sue Sylvester.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other. At first Kurt thought that Tom and Sue had had an early meeting, but the way Sue was adjusting her track suit and the way her hair was messed up said this was something else entirely. Kurt thought as hard as his pounding head would let him, and dimly remembered that he might have seen her at the party.

"Porcelain," Sue said, like they were meeting in the halls of McKinley.

"Coach," Kurt said back, doing his best to affect the same tone.

Sue raised her eyebrows, and then both of them turned. To Kurt's mild horror, he found that they were walking the same direction.

"Headed back to work?" Kurt asked.

"Of course. And you?"

"Have an errand to run."

"Right." Sue obviously didn't believe him, but she didn't press, either. Kurt kept walking and trying not to focus on the fact that he was doing the walk of shame with Sue Sylvester.

The bright sunlight and the cold fresh air outside helped, especially as it blew away the worst of the stale alcohol smell from last night. Kurt winced because he'd forgotten his jacket, but he was grateful for the escape from _Colonial One_ all the same. Outside of the ship, Coach Sylvester looked different- more triumphant than humiliated. Smug. Like bagging the Vice President of the Colonies was something she _wanted_ to do, and considered a notch on her bedpost. Kurt was fairly certain that sleeping with the Vice President was a more difficult feat to accomplish than sleeping with the President was. Probably better, too.

Oh gods. That was _not_ where his mind needed to go.

"You look more sickly pale than you ever have, Porcelain," Sue said. "Better watch out that you don't catch something off that skeeze of yours."

"I'm fine," Kurt said flatly.

"Mmm. So you'll be boasting about this particular conquest until the cows come home."

Kurt's cheeks flared red. "No. And, um, if you could not-"

"What?" Sue arched an eyebrow. "Don't want word of this getting to Daddy Dearest? Can't say I blame you there, Porcelain, although I'm sure your boss would love it. Let Mr. Caveman come in with his flamethrower or shotgun and take out the President, then you and Zarek can run the world. Of course, then you wouldn't have Baltar to blame every time the pair of you frak up, but I'm sure you can work around that."

"I don't want my father hearing because it is my own business," Kurt said stiffly. "It's not something he needs to know about."

"I don't know. I hear a lot of people would be happy to see Baltar gone." Sue raised her eyebrows again, her hands clasped behind her back. "Including you two. See you later, Porcelain."

"He doesn't actually have a shotgun," Kurt shouted after her, and then sighed. Shit.

His head was still throbbing when he returned to _Colonial One_ an hour and a half later, showered and dressed in fresh clothing. The Quorum meeting had already started, and Tom's glare of disapproval as Kurt slipped into his seat was more galling than anything else.

"What did I miss?" he whispered to Gaeta.

Gaeta acted like he hadn't spoken. Oh. Of course he would. Kurt didn't really know why he'd even bothered to ask.

The meeting dragged on and on. Kurt kept writing, but the words went from ears to hand without stopping in his brain at all. He was painfully aware of Gaeta sitting stiffly beside him, his own pad filling up with his rapid, neat handwriting. Gaeta had the loudest silence that Kurt had ever heard.

As much as he hated to admit it, Kurt knew that he had to say _something_ to Gaeta. If Gaeta refused to speak to him, Tom would kill Kurt, and Kurt knew it. Kurt might be a good assistant, but he did not have the access to Baltar that Gaeta did, and last night sure as hell wouldn't change that. So when the meeting ended, Kurt followed Gaeta to his small office, catching the door right before Gaeta slammed it in his face.

"Look," Kurt said to Gaeta's back. "I know you're mad at me right now. I just wanted… I wanted to say I'm sorry."

No answer. Gaeta's back was still to him.

"I'm sorry."

Still no answer.

"If it helps, you're better off without him," Kurt offered. "You could do better. Not sure with _who_, since there aren't exactly many young, attractive single men into men around, but you could do better. For all that we don't like each other, you're not difficult to look at."

"My desk," Gaeta said.

Kurt blinked. "Excuse me?"

Gaeta turned around. "You want to frak Gaius Baltar? Fine. Frak Gaius Baltar. Half the world is, apparently. I don't care about that. But on my desk? Really, Hummel?"

"How did you-"

Gaeta pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and threw it at Kurt's face. The paper bounced off Kurt's temple, and Kurt knelt down to pick it up. At first, he could discern absolutely no meaning in it- it was just a list of materials. But as he pulled it apart, it stuck, like something had been spilled on it and was gluing it together. The list was familiar, and he realized it was the one he had been reading last night. Kurt realized what substance had glued the paper together, and shrieked a little and tossed it away.

"You kept that in your _pocket_? What is _wrong_ with you?"

"What is wrong with me? What is wrong with _you_? My DESK, Hummel! Gaius has a bed! It's ten feet away! You could have at least used that and not rubbed my face in it!"

"Well, excuse me for not thinking of you while I was trying to work out some issues!"

"Work your frakking issues out someplace else! This is the seat of government, not a therapist's office or a brothel!" Gaeta shouted, his fists clenched at his side.

"Look who's talking!" Kurt shouted back. "How many nights have you been in here frakking your _boss_? It's no wonder we can't ever get you to go against him, when pissing him off might cost you the chance to suck his dick!"

The minute the words were out of his mouth, Kurt knew he'd gone too far. Just by the words alone- usually he was nowhere near that crass. But the expression on Gaeta's face was even worse. His eyes were blazing with anger and the tendons in his neck stood out, and Kurt took a step back because he was sure Gaeta wouldn't mind seeing him dead right now.

"Get out," Gaeta ordered him.

There was no way Gaeta wanted an apology, and for the most part, Kurt really didn't feel like apologizing anymore. It wouldn't do any good, anyway. So he nodded and swept out the best he could, dignity mostly intact.

He didn't start trembling until he was safe in the bathroom, out of sight from everyone. This had not gone well _at all._

__"That looks like the most boring reading ever," Carole said, leaning over Burt's shoulder.

Burt rubbed his eyes. "It is," he admitted. "At least the language. But it's the new labor agreement."

"Really? The one with the workman's comp improvements?" Carole looked at the document with new respect. "You've got a copy?"

"Tyrol gave me one," Burt said. "He's taking it to Baltar tomorrow."

Carole slid into the chair across from him. "Are you going with him?"

"Nah. He's taking a couple of the people from _Galactica_. But I know Kurt was happy with the agreement, so that's good. And he said Zarek was happy with it, too." He wondered if Zarek had abandoned the idea of making trouble for Baltar. He hadn't said another word about it to Burt, and he'd been just as civil and friendly as always when the met. It was kind of creeping Burt out a bit, if he was honest, because he really wasn't sure _what_ the expectations were- or how angry Zarek would be if he refused to do whatever Zarek wanted him to do. "Just as well. I really don't know how much help I'd be around Baltar. He doesn't talk sense half the time."

Carole giggled. "I have to say, I'll be glad to have this agreement signed. It's not perfect, but it would give us all some sort of security. A system."

"Yeah. It'll definitely be a good thing," Burt said. "You wishing you were on the union side?"

"I _am_ on the union's side," Carole said staunchly. "Just because I'm management doesn't change that."

Burt leaned forward and kissed her. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

***

"He didn't sign it!" Galen stormed into Burt's workshop, practically pulling out his hair. "That frakker Gaius Baltar-"

"He wouldn't sign it?"

"Wouldn't sign it. Tore the damn thing up and told us to get our asses back to work. Said that we should be _grateful_."

"For what?" Burt asked.

"Grateful because thanks to him, there are no Cylon attacks. Which, yeah, great. We're alive. But we're not gonna stay that way if we have to keep working under- ARGH!" Galen began pacing again. "I swear to the gods I thought I was going to get through to him this time! I had the statistics, I had the cases- frakking _Gaeta_ helped me put together the damn argument! It should have been foolproof! But logic didn't matter, because that frakker was too out of it to even listen! Everything was in one ear and out the other!"

"So… where does that leave us?" Burt asked. "What does he want changed?"

"Everything. He wouldn't give in on a damned thing. And Gaeta's there talking at him, and Zarek, and he still- you know what else? He's got half the Quorum singing the same frakking song!" Galen whirled. "Half of them! He's got them convinced that this is all a load of _horseshit_ and that these labor regulations aren't worth the paper they're printed on!"

That was more worrisome. Burt had hoped that with enough pressure from the Quorum, Baltar would cave. But if the Quorum wasn't putting on pressure, they were screwed. "How's everyone going to take it?" Galen's only answer to that was a derisive snort, which Burt should have expected. He knew how the union was going to take it. They weren't going to like it at all.

"Well," he said, once Galen had paced himself into some semblance of calm. "What do we do next?"

"I don't know." Galen heaved a sigh. "There's always…" his eyes met Burt's, and Burt knew the word he was thinking. _Strike._

"The problem with that is, we do it, no building gets done," Burt said slowly. "And winter's coming."

"I know."

"And no one gets paid. Which means we'd better have some means of feeding all these people."

Galen sighed again. "I know."

"It's not a good idea."

"I know." Galen made a useless little gesture with his hands. "The problem is, it might be our _only_ idea."

Burt sighed. "I know."

***

Kurt looked terrible when he showed up for dinner Friday night, pale, flat, and wearing the same outfit he'd had on when Burt had caught sight of him two days ago. "You getting enough sleep?" Burt asked him.

"I am, although Lauren's bed isn't always comfortable." Kurt gave a grim smile at Burt's confusion. "Puck and Lauren are back together. Sort of, anyway."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Carole asked, setting the food on the table. "Finn, get the silverware, will you?"

"It's awesome," Finn said. "He's always been crazy about her."

"I was thinking more that it was a good sign that Lauren was doing better," Carole said testily. Finn shrugged apologetically.

"Between Lauren and Puck getting back together and Mike and Tina settling in with Blaine and getting married, I'd say things are going pretty good," Burt said. He was met with two death glares, one from Carole and one from Kurt. Finn, he noticed, was focused entirely on the food.

For a while, the only sound in the tent was cutlery on plates. Finally, Carole set hers down with an angry sigh. "Kurt," she said, pushing her plate away, "we need to talk."

Oh, shit. But then, maybe this was good, Carole taking it on honestly like this, especially when Kurt set his own fork down.

"I'm listening."

"Baltar refused to sign the revised labor agreement. That means that there improvements to the worker's compensation plan won't be legal, and it means that positions- that _people_ an be moved around by the whim of the government."

"I'm aware of that, Carole. I wasn't happy about it either."

"You took away a third of our crew for the construction crews!" Carole pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I know that _you_ didn't do that. Not you, personally."

"No," Kurt said stiffly. "I didn't. I type the memos. I don't make the decisions."

"But how can you?" she asked. "How can you continue to work for these people, Kurt? They have no idea what they are doing, the orders that come down keep conflicting, and the whole thing is just a mess!"

"So walking away instead of trying to help fix things would be the solution?" Kurt asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I didn't say that."

"Yes you did. That's what I'd be doing if I left my job."

"You just said you didn't have any power," Carole pointed out. "So it's not like you could fix things anyway, even if you stayed."

Burt met Finn's eyes across the table. Immediately, the two of them launched into well-worn diversion tactics.

"How _is_ Blaine doing anyway?" Finn tried. "I haven't had a chance to talk to Mike or Tina in ages."

"I think he's sleeping better now," Burt said. "Isn't that what Mike said, Carole?"

"I wouldn't know," Carole answered, still glaring at Kurt. "I haven't seen anyone who's not at the plant in the past three weeks."

Kurt sighed. "Look, I _know_ it's a problem," he said. "But the fact that construction is going so slowly on the apartments is a problem, too. It's getting colder, and things like pneumonia and consumption are going around, and they've been killing people. Pneumonia and consumption! Those haven't been fatal in the Colonies in… in years! We need to get some of these people inside for the winter! _Especially_ people like Mike and Tina," he added purposefully, "who have young children!"

"That doesn't change that you're breaking the backs of other people!"

"_I'm_ not doing it personally! I'm not the one not signing the agreement!"

"You're working for the people who are!"

"So you think I should just walk out?"

"Yes!" Carole yelled. "I think you should! There comes a point where you _have_ to, Kurt! Because that administration is incompetent-"

"So what would it do?" Kurt yelled. "What would me walking out _do_, Carole? What would it fix, if one assistant walked out?"

"Probably nothing! You're right, okay? It would probably do nothing! But then at least I could look at you and know that you are on our side!" Her voice rang through the tent, and everything fell silent.

"You really think that?" Kurt asked, and Burt could tell that Carole had hurt him to the core. "After everything I've done, you really think I'm not on your side? Fine." He pushed out his chair and grabbed his coat. "I'm going."

"Kurt-" Carole began.

Kurt kissed Burt on the cheek. "I'll see you all at the wedding. I'd better go." With that he flounced out into the night.

"Carole-" Burt said.

"I know. I know. I just… I…" Carole sank down and cradled her forehead on her hands. "I _know_ it's not his fault, Burt, but you've seen the hours everyone at the plant has been working!"

He'd seen the hours _she_ had been working. He was suddenly very tired. "It will be okay, Carole. There's an answer."

"An answer? What kind of answer?" Finn asked.

Burt looked at Carole, exhausted and heartsick at the table. This wasn't about politics anymore. This was about people's lives. And people couldn't go on living like this- they _had_ to be heard. Burt thought of Carole and the hours she'd been working, and Sam and Rya. Rachel being moved to a clerk's job, but a whole hell of a lot of other people being given no say in what work they were being assigned to do. And Brit- what would happen to Brittany if anything ever happened to Burt.

Hell with this. It was time to take action.

"The government can't help us. _Kurt_ can't help us, because _they_ won't help us. So maybe it's time we make them listen. Maybe it's time we start talking about a strike."

***

"You ready?" Puck asked Kurt, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

Kurt frowned into the small, spotted glass, trying to adjust his tie. "Not quite yet."

"Come on!" Puck insisted, practically pulling him towards the entrance of their tent. "We need to hurry! I have a very important role in this ceremony!"

"One, 'baby bearer' is a title that you made up yourself," Kurt said sourly. "And two, they can't start without me, since I'm the one that makes it legal."

"Oh, shut up," Puck said good-naturedly. "Your tie is fine. Let's _go._" With a sigh, Kurt let Puck pull him out of the tent.

At least it was a nice day. It was cold, but the sun was out and the sky was blue. Kurt had finally admitted that the weather on New Caprica varied between "bad" and "miserable", so he was glad that Tina and Mike had lucked out to get one of the eight nice days apparently allotted for the year. Kurt trudged along after Puck, trying to get himself into a good mood.

"So," Puck said cheerfully, "you ever gonna tell me where you were three nights ago?"

"No."

"Come on." Puck slung an arm around Kurt's shoulder. "You can tell me. Who am I gonna tell?"

"Everybody." Kurt grabbed Puck's hand and removed his arm from his shoulder. "I'm not telling. Are we picking up Lauren and Rachel?"

"Yeah.."

Lauren and Rachel were waiting for them. Rachel was wearing a blue dress, had on her best pair of shoes, and her hair was down and loose. Lauren was dressed much more conservatively and had her hair in braids, but her smile was just as wide as Rachel's. To be honest, the way things were going, Kurt wouldn't be surprised if chirping birds joined them in this walk.

"We should sing," Rachel said, slipping in between Puck and Kurt and looping her arms through theirs.

"We are singing," Kurt pointed out. "At the ceremony."

"Do you really think that's what she meant, Hummel?" Lauren asked.

"I was hoping."

"Dude, Rachel is pretty much suggesting that we go skipping down the streets of New Caprica singing and dancing," Puck pointed out. "I thought that sort of thing was right up your alley." Kurt stared at him, and Puck shrugged. "What? It is."

It _was_, and that was the problem. Kurt forced a smile. "You're right," he said, and took a deep breath before turning to Rachel. "What are we singing?"

Rachel started in on "Going to the Chapel", and Puck immediately joined in. Which was strange enough, because it was _Puck,_ a guy who at one point would have rather died than sing and dance in front of people. Lauren added her voice, and Kurt reluctantly took the harmony. Rachel was glowing, especially as people turned to watch them walk by. Probably not because of their voices, Kurt thought sourly, but because of the spectacle they were making. That thought annoyed him, and he sang louder, because when had he _ever_ been concerned about people watching him like that?

The wedding was being held down by the river. When they arrived, a good half of New Directions was already there, but there were also a lot of people from the _Cybele_. Kurt hadn't quite realized just how well liked Tina and Mike were, although it made sense. He stood back for a moment, just taking in the scene. It was nice to see people so happy for a change. And he wasn't imagining it that their grins slipped a notch or two when they looked at him.

"There he is!" Puck shouted, immediately turning into a dripping pile of mush as Mike came over with baby Blaine. "Who's a big boy? The best boy ever, right? Except for your Uncle Puck." He took the baby from Mike easily, cuddling him close.

"My gods," Kurt said, standing back and watching Puck coo over the baby. "I wish I'd known about this in high school. I could have just stopped him from throwing me in the dumpster by handing him a baby."

Rachel didn't laugh. Instead, she put a hand on Kurt's arm. "Are you okay?"

He shook her off. "I'm fine," he said shortly.

"Do you want to go see the baby?"

"No." To Kurt's relief, he spotted Finn, Santana, and Mercedes approaching, and he grabbed Rachel's arm. "Let's go say hi to them."

"But you can't avoid-" Rachel began, and then saw exactly who Kurt was talking about. "All right." She took a few steps with him, but ran the rest of them straight to Finn, who picked her up and hugged her tight. Santana made a gagging motion, and Kurt couldn't help smirking. Like she wouldn't do the same thing as soon as she saw Brittany. He rolled his eyes at Mercedes, and she barely stifled a giggle.

"I have to ask," Kurt said when Santana was dragged off to help Artie make his way over the rough ground. "Why the dress grays? You used to dress _well_, Mercedes."

"And the uniforms are _hot_," Mercedes said.

"Those double tank monstrosities will _never_ be flattering or make sense," Kurt corrected her firmly.

"I'm wearing my jacket over the tanks, genius." Mercedes shook her head. "And the dress grays _are_ hot, so there. Besides, I didn't bring anything with me that's really appropriate for a wedding."

"You could have traded for something."

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a decent dress in my size in this Fleet?" Mercedes demanded. "There are a lot of other things I'd rather trade for. I can wear my dress grays. Santana and Finn are, too. And you can't tell me that Finn doesn't look good in those."

"And Santana looks even better, although it does pain me to admit it," Kurt said with a sigh. "I swear, you will all be the death of me."

Mercedes giggled. "Stop bitching about military fashion and turn around. You obviously wore a fabulous enough outfit for the two of us." Kurt spun obligingly, showing off the blazer he had remodeled. Mercedes' appreciative applause made it completely worth the effort.

"Come on!" Rachel and Finn were back by them. "They're starting!" Rachel said excitedly.

Kurt held his arm out to Mercedes and they jockeyed their way to a place up front. The site looked fantastic. They were down on the rocky shore, with the river as a backdrop to the ceremony. Mr. Schuester was standing with his back to the river, smiling and wearing his best vest. He grinned at them and winked, and Mercedes waggled her fingertips back. "I can't believe he still manages to find vests," she whispered, and they both giggled.

Artie was providing the music with Sam's old guitar. Kurt remembered Tina once saying how much she would have loved a harp for a processional, and momentarily felt bad that she had to make do with a beat-up acoustic guitar. But then he spotted, her, and he couldn't feel pity in the glow of Tina's smile.

Tina was wearing a black lace dress with a wide white color, and a dark shawl draped around her shoulders. She was walking with Sam, their arms laced together, although when she passed Carole she reached out and squeezed her hand. Kurt saw his stepmother's smile and for the first time, he realized that if he ever got married, Carole would be walking him down the aisle with his father. The thought took him by surprise, and he almost missed Mike's entrance.

Tina was radiant, but Mike almost put her to shame with the way he was smiling. He practically bounced up to Will, and it was only the strong arm of Coach Beiste that kept him on the ground. Kurt had helped Mike pick out his wedding outfit, and although Mike had refused to wear a hat, he'd at least adopted Kurt's idea of a fancy scarf around his neck as a cold-weather version of a tie. It was flattering, and Mike looked at least as good as Tina, if Kurt said so himself.

The bride and groom reached Mr. Schuester, who was performing the actual ceremony. Not that it was legal- Kurt's signature as a public notary was what would make them married in the eyes of the government- but both Tina and Mike had insisted. Kurt shifted uncomfortably, ready for a long, drawn out, sentimental service. Next to him, Mercedes nudged him with her shoulder, either as a show of support or a reminder to pay attention. He decided to take it as the former.

He was prepared for the wedding to be painful for him. After all, he'd really thought that one day it might be him and Blaine standing up there, and if Blaine had survived Caprica, it probably would have been. He'd been able to see it so clearly, to the point where he could feel Blaine's hands in his and hear his voice.

He'd thought that Blaine's ghost would be with him today, or at least the longing. Instead, he felt mostly dead inside, except when Tina and Mike kissed. Then he couldn't help smiling and clapping along with all of the others.

Mr. Schuester finished the ceremony, and it was Kurt's turn to sign the certificate with a flourish, then pass it to Tina and Mike to add their own names, as they became Tina and Michael Cohen-Chang. Puck was waving little Blaine's arm, everyone was clapping and Mike and Tina were glowing, but as Kurt took a step back he just felt that dim deadness spread over him again.

Receptions on New Caprica were nothing like they had been on Gemenon. Two years ago, his father had had a fancy dinner with filet mignon and chicken breast, a huge cake, dancing and music, and presents that were luxuries rather than necessities. On New Caprica, there was no catering service, and presents tended to be recycled or ragged. There was no meal for Tina and Mike's wedding, although Quinn's wedding present to them had been a fruit cake that she'd bought and probably paid dearly for. Artie had rigged up a sound system with a wireless which was a true luxury for a New Caprican wedding, and it didn't take long for the dancing to begin.

"Come on," Mercedes said, grabbing Kurt's hand and pulling him to the middle of the impromptu dance floor. "It's a party."

It was easy to dance with Mercedes and laugh about old glee choreography. The others were dancing as well, and Kurt found he'd missed those days, when they'd all danced together. He got his dance with the bride, and to his pleased surprise, a dance with the groom as well. He retreated to the sidelines after, watching the people dancing and just trying to enjoy everything.

"You're not dancing?" Finn asked as he stopped by Kurt, a glass of something in his hand.

Kurt was flippant. "I know. Puck promised me a dance, but he seems to be taken up by another man." He pointed to where Puck was twirling with baby Blaine, swooping him around in a way that would probably make Tina smack him upside the head.

"Yeah, I see that," Finn said with a little laugh. He took another sip of his drink, his eyes on the couples. "You okay?"

Kurt shrugged. "Why wouldn't I be? We're at a wedding, it's a nice day, there's even cake…" he held up his slice to illustrate his point.

"Yeah, but you seem really out of it," Finn said.

"Mmm."

"Hey, listen," Finn said, when things stretched too long, "I have to go up to _Galactica_ in a bit. I've only got the Raptor for so long, but I'm coming back down tomorrow with a supply run and I'll have a spare seat. You want to come up tonight and hang out? I know we can't get warm milk- well, we can, but it's that dehydrated stuff and it tastes really bad- but we can find something else."

Kurt nodded slowly. "All right," he said.

"Awesome." Finn pounded him on the back. "We'll leave in an hour, okay?"

"Okay."

Finn grinned at him one more time and then turned away to talk to someone else, and Kurt settled back in with a smile.

***

They ended up playing cards in Finn's rack, sitting at the table in the middle of the room. Finn waited three games before he finally opened his big mouth. "So what's going on with you? Everyone said you've been kind of out of it."

"Who's everyone?" Kurt asked suspiciously.

"Dude, don't change the subject. Even I could see it tonight. Something's off. What's going on?"

Kurt sighed. "I don't know," he admitted. "I guess if I was going to go with the vernacular, I'd say I can't seem to 'get my groove back.'" He made a pair of air quotes and rolled his eyes as he said it, even if it _was_ the perfect summation. "I know Blaine's gone, and I accept that, but it just keeps… shouldn't I be doing better by now?"

"How bad are you doing?" Finn asked.

"Really bad," Kurt admitted. He chewed his lip, looking down at the cards on the table. "I had a one night stand."

"So? No offense, but I always figured you'd have a few once you and Blaine broke up and you went to college."

Kurt shot him a glare. "Thank you for your faith in our relationship." Finn shrugged, and Kurt decided there was no point in arguing. "I know," he conceded. "And _if that had happened_, I probably would have. It's not the one night stand part that bothers me."

"What bothers you, then?"

"I slept with Baltar."

Finn clearly didn't know what to make of that. "Oh."

"It's not just that he's the President," Kurt explained. "I just… I don't even _like_ him. At all."

"But you voted for him!"

"And I'm kind of regretting that," Kurt admitted. "He's… he doesn't _do_ anything, Finn. He sits in that office all day and talks about how great he is and how the Cylons haven't come back and he makes it impossible for us to get anything done, because he thinks everyone should do things exactly _his_ way. Like, because he's this great scientist, he knows what's best for everyone on the planet." Kurt snorted. "When people don't agree with them, he doesn't try to convince them he's right or even listen to what they have to say- he just throws a fit. Plus, his hair is rather disgusting and he smokes and he really isn't as attractive as he used to be."

"So why did you do it?"

"I don't know," Kurt said, putting the cards down and falling back on the bed, curling up. "I thought maybe it would help me get over Blaine. De-romanticize it or something. And all it's done is make things worse."

Finn stared at Kurt for a long time, until Kurt had to look down, aware that he was on the verge of tears. Then Finn put his cards down definitively. "Come on."

"What? Where?"

"Just come on." Finn stood up and held his hand out to Kurt. "I think this will help."

They walked through the deserted halls of the _Galactica_ together. Kurt looked around curiously. The last time he'd been here it had been bustling with activity and life, but now it just seemed tired and dead. They turned a corner, and Kurt stopped short. The hall in front of them was covered with pictures.

"Finn…"

"I've never brought you here before, have I?" Finn said. Kurt shook his head. Both walls were covered. Not just covered, but covered in layers. All those faces, notes, names, candles, scraps of memory… "Finn."

Finn took Kurt's hand and squeezed it. "Come on."

Finn led him down the hall about two thirds of the way and then stopped. At first, Kurt didn't know what he was supposed to be looking for, and then Lauren's face caught his eye. "What's she doing up here?"

"Guess that should come down, but I kind of left it for Puck. I don't know how much he comes here anymore," Finn said. Kurt thought probably not that much since Puck was on the ground, but he didn't say anything. His eyes were too busy searching out other faces.

There weren't many he knew. There was Lauren, of course, and there was a picture of Ms. Pillsbury that was grainy and small, like someone had printed it off a phone. Mercedes' entire family- Kurt recognized her parents and her brother. Then he couldn't avoid looking at it anymore, and his eyes finally landed on the picture of Blaine.

The picture was torn in half, and Kurt knew why. Finn had carefully torn Kurt out of it, although his arms were still visible around Blaine's neck. It was taken here on the _Galactica_, when they'd greeted each other. Kurt had heard that a picture like this had existed, but he'd never really paid attention to it. He reached up and touched Blaine lightly, trailing his fingers down the picture.

"I know you used to go to your mom's grave," Finn said quietly. "I always knew when you went, because you'd come home looking sad, but you'd seem kind of peaceful. And I've been thinking that you never had a chance to visit Blaine's grave. I know he doesn't have a real one, at least, not where his body is. But this is what that's for- the Memorial hallway, I mean. I thought it might help you to come here."

There was a lump in Kurt's throat and he couldn't speak. He kept tracing the picture like he used to trace the letters carved into his mother's headstone, until the pictures all blurred in his vision.

Finn was quiet.

"I just want… I just want to move on," Kurt admitted, his voice thick with grief. "I want to, but I can't. I want-" he broke down crying, and Finn wrapped his arms around him. Kurt held on tight, crying into Finn's shoulder until his ribs hurt. It wasn't pleasant, but it felt _good_. Like lancing a wound and letting everything out, like going to his mother's grave used to feel. Finn just held him, not saying anything and letting Kurt cry.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said when he finally pulled away. "Your jacket is going to need washed." He brushed ineffectually at the damp stain on Finn's BDU jacket.

"No worries." Finn peered closely at Kurt's face. "Feel a little better?"

"No. Not really. Finn… would you think less of me if I… if I found someone to talk to on New Caprica?"

"What, you mean like Puck or something? He's a good listener, you know. And I know Rachel can get kind of crazy and scary, but you guys-"

"No, I mean a therapist. Someone who really knows what they're doing. I'm not getting better, Finn. And I should be."

"Oh." Finn's face brightened with understanding. "Yeah, no. I wouldn't think less of you at all. I think that's a really good idea, actually."

"You do?" Although now that he'd said it, Kurt knew the truth. It was. It was exactly what he needed to do.

"Yeah. I also think," Finn smiled slowly, "that we should go get drunk. _Really_ drunk. I'll set the alarm so you can wake up in time to take a shower up here-"

"You are a _god_," Kurt interrupted.

"-And then we'll find Mercedes and some of the others and get as drunk as we can. Sounds good?"

"Sounds great. Finn?"

"Yeah?"

Kurt hugged him. "Thanks."

"Any time, bro," Finn said, hugging him back.

***

The tent was crowded with workers. Burt between Carole and Brittany, looking around. So many people.

He'd brought the idea of a strike to Galen, and had been given no answer, just a very grim sort of expression that meant Galen already had a plan. Burt strongly suspected he knew what it was, but Galen didn't say.

He could feel it here in the tent, though. All the discontent, all the unrest… everything that had been building. He'd been spared a lot of the misery because of Kurt, but he'd seen the problems in the administration. New Caprica simply wasn't working, and there had to be a way to fix it.

Up on the platform, Tyrol was trying to impose order, shouting for quiet. The crowd was so riled up it was hard, until Cally just burst out with a loud, "Hey, shut the frak up!" The crowd, surprised, settled down.

Tyrol looked nervous- more nervous than Burt had ever seen him, although the man was not in any way a gifted speaker. But when he did speak, his words went straight to the heart of the problem, to what everyone wanted to hear.

"When you elected me union President, I promised I would keep us working, keep benefits flowing. But most of all, keep this city alive. I promised we would stay on the job. But there comes a time when you realize that the engine you've built with your blood and your sweat and your tears is being used for something so foul, so perverted that it makes you sick in your heart." There was noise from the audience, cheers that were threatening to break free. But Tyrol gestured for them to be held in, at least until the end.

"And it's then that you must throw your body on the gears and on the levers and on the machine itself and make it stop. And you have to show the people who run it, the people who control it, that unless we're free, that machine will be prevented from working at all."

The last words were like a match to dry kindling. "Strike!" someone yelled, and the chant was quickly picked up and built, until the entire tent echoed with the force of it.

"Strike! Strike! Strike! Strike! Strike! Strike!"

Burt's bones vibrated to the rhythm, and his heart started pounding faster. _Strike_. One way or another, this was going to change things for good.

***

Kurt's head was pounding when Finn dropped him off, but he stood on the edge of the airfield and watched Finn's Raptor lift off, heading back up to the _Galactica_, and he felt better than he had in a long time. He figured he'd go home, change, and then go down to the medical tent and talk to Quinn. She would help him find someone, and then he could go up to _Colonial One_ and get a little work done. He technically had the day off, but there was so much to do that no one would argue.

He was walking up the hill to the med tent when he saw them. He stood staring for a long moment, praying that it was the pilots doing a Raptor drill. But it wasn't.

The ships streaked across the sky, leaving jet streams and landing out of his sight. Kurt hadn't looked out the window often during attacks, but he still knew what the ships looked like. He recognized the heavy, bulky raiders and the sharp crescents shapes. For a long moment his mind wouldn't process it, but that didn't change the truth.

The Cylons had found them.


	10. Tricked By the Future You Picked

Gaius Baltar surrendered to the Cylons.

The news was around the settlement in a matter of minutes. Burt had known there was no hope- the Centurions tramping through the market place and the ships flying overhead had announced that. What he didn't know was what had happened. Was the Fleet destroyed? The _Galactica_? Was Finn- no. He wasn't going to think about that right now, because there was no reason to believe that the whole settlement wouldn't be blown to bits at any minute. If Finn was dead, he might be the lucky one.

The real question was, what happened now?

Everyone had been ordered back to their tents by a detached voice over the loudspeaker system. Burt and Carole had obeyed, because what else could they do? They had no idea of where anyone else was, and machines who had destroyed the Colonies had a way of making them cooperate.

"We should find the kids," Carole said as they huddled in their tent. "As many of them as we can. We should-"

There was shouting outside, and the rattle of guns, imprecise, accompanied by human shouting, and the answer of the ordered firing of Centurions. Screaming. The fight was over quickly, but the screaming went on. Carole's face was pale, and she reached out for Burt's hand. He gripped hers tightly, mouth pressed closed tightly as the screaming finally began to die away. He wasn't surprised that people would resist, and he didn't blame them, but the message was clear. Fall in line or be killed.

There was one name in the forefront of Burt's mind, one person who he desperately needed to see, to assure himself that he was all right. But Burt had no idea if he could get to Kurt, even if he could get out of this tent. Kurt would be up in _Colonial One_, which meant…. He had no frakking clue what that meant, except that Burt was terrified.

They heard gunfire again, and he wrapped his arm around Carole as she buried her face in his shoulder. They were just going to have to wait. They had no idea if Finn was alive, they had no idea if Kurt was alive, they had no idea if they themselves would be alive in an hour. They clung to each other, the only comfort they could find in their fear.

***

Baltar's office was crowded with every member of the human government, as well as several Cylons. Kurt sat on the couch between Tom and a Quorum representative, trying to huddle in on himself and to keep from just jumping up and running away. He'd never been so scared in his life, especially with the Cylons standing in the room. A Six was addressing the assemblage.

"This is not a conquering force or an attempt to exterminate the human race," she said. "This is God's plan. He wants us to live in peace, to atone for our sins by forming this new alliance with humanity." She believed. It was clear she believed in this God and her words. And if Kurt only listened to her, he might believe that this was all right. But she wasn't the only one speaking.

"However, let's be honest with ourselves, shall we?" a One broke in. He was an old man, dressed in black, leaning against Baltar's desk. "This 'new society' will take time to be built. Time and… certain cooperation. Compromises. Sacrifices."

"On whose side?" Tom stood up, his arms crossed and his face steady and hard.

A Three raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Whose side will be making compromises and sacrifices? We've heard the guns going off outside already."

"Only in defense," the Three said. "This is a nonviolent and peaceful-"

"There is no nonviolent way to deprive people of their freedom."

"That's not what we're here to do," an Eight said.

Tom raised his head defiantly. "If you think that your living here is in any way in accordance with the people's wishes, you are deluding yourself. There is no way that the people will not rise up against you, and the only way you can accomplish this so-called peaceful coexistence is through violence, coercion, and force. And you are asking us to be party to that."

"Technically, we're not asking," a One pointed out. "As you say, the only way we can accomplish our goals is through violence, coercion, and force, and frankly, those all sound like pretty good ideas to me."

"I won't do it."

Kurt stared up at Tom, frozen. His heart was pounding hard and his mouth went dry, and very suddenly it occurred to him how very, very much he liked his boss and how badly he really did not want him to die.

"Well, now." The One smiled. It was an oily smile, and the meaning behind it was clear. "Are you volunteering to be our first demonstration, Mr. Zarek?"

"Tom." Baltar stood up. "Don't do this. This is not worth your life."

Tom gave a little choked laugh. "Not worth my life, Gaius? You do remember who I am and what I have done, right? Did you ever think that any of it was a ploy? A joke? I have always been willing to sacrifice my life for the good of the people- for their freedoms and their rights. Why should now be any different?"

"Because it won't matter!" Baltar said, looking around at the Cylons frantically. "Because if you die here, they won't leave! It won't accomplish anything!"

"I'll take that chance, Gaius. At least then I shall die with my soul intact."

_Don't do this_, Kurt wanted to beg him. _Please. Don't do this._ But the words wouldn't come out of his mouth, and he could only sit on, paralyzed.

Tom broke that paralysis when he touched Kurt's shoulder. "Are you coming with me? Or are you staying here and going along with this madness?"

"My father…" Kurt croaked out, and suddenly that freed him. "My father has a weak heart. If I died…." Was it an excuse or the truth? Kurt didn't know. All he knew was that there was disappointment in Tom's eyes when he looked at him.

"Enough of this," the One said. "Shoot him."

"No!" An Eight and the believer Six both protested. "That's not how this is supposed to work!" the Eight said.

"Well, then, take him to some sort of prison," the One said, waving a hand dismissively. He looked at the Four and Five that had been standing silent all this time. "Do we even have one?"

"I'm sure the humans have some sort of disciplinary measures," the Four said. They looked at Baltar.

Baltar's shoulders slumped. "There's the _Astral Queen_," he said. "A former prison ship. We've been using that for detainment purposes."

"It will have to do for now. Throw him into a cell on this _Astral Queen_, and we'll deal with him later. Anyone else?"

The rest of the administration remained silent. Kurt couldn't look anyone in the eye, but if he'd been able to he would have noticed that no one else could, either. The Four and the Five flanked Tom, who held his wrists out in a resigned sort of way. Kurt was a little surprised that Tom didn't go kicking and screaming, but maybe he'd realized that there was some truth in what Baltar said, that his death would accomplish nothing. The room was silent as Tom was led out, and Kurt didn't realize he was shaking until the door slammed.

The One watched them go, and then turned back to face the human administration. "Good. Now that that's settled, let's get to work."

***

"Carole Hudson."

Burt and Carole both froze as a man who looked exactly like Simon O'Neill threw open their tent flap and walked in, the morning sun behind him. It had been a long, terrifying night spent isolated in their tent with no clear idea of what was happening. Burt tightened his grip on Carole's hand as she stood to answer.

"Yes?"

The Four looked at a clipboard in his hand. "You're management in the water treatment facility."

Carole drew herself up. "Yes."

"Come with me."

Burt jumped to his feet. "Where are you taking her?"

The Four smiled, just a little bit, like he saw Burt's fear and thought it ridiculous, even though he knew the root cause. "To work, of course. She'll be home in twelve hours."

Burt automatically glanced at his watch. It was about the time Carole would normally leave. "I'll hold you to that," he growled.

"As long as no one makes trouble, you're fine," the Four said. "Hudson. Let's go."

"Wait." Burt grabbed his own coat. "I want to come with you."

"Excuse me?" the Four asked.

"I want to know that you're telling me the truth, and I'm not gonna believe it unless I see her go into that plant with my own eyes. You can walk me to work after, if you want."

The Four shrugged. "Fine. If you insist." He held the tent flap open and bowed mockingly. "After you."

Carole slipped her arm through Burt's and he covered her hand, and they walked through the streets of New Caprica with the Four right behind them. Carole was pressed close against him, and his own heart was pounding so hard he was sure the Four could hear it. There were others in the streets, both human and Cylon, and both skinjobs and Centurions, but it didn't have the air of business as usual.

The Four didn't redirect them at all as they walked to the water treatment facility, and when they arrived, he inclined his head for Carole to go in. So it was true. Burt breathed a little easier. Carole leaned in and he kissed her goodbye, then the Four cleared his throat and Carole headed into the plant. Safe.

Brittany was in the shop when Burt arrived. The Four left, uninterested ever since his main errand was complete, and as soon as he was gone Burt crossed the shop and hugged Brit to him. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Brittany said, pulling away. "I'm just- she's dead, isn't she? Santana?"

"Hey, we don't know that. They could have jumped away."

"They wouldn't," Brittany said. "Santana wouldn't leave me here."

Burt drew a deep breath. "They would," he said. "It stands to reason, right? That they'd run away and come back to get us later? We've got to believe that, Brit, that they got away. Okay?" He cupped her cheek, and Brittany nodded. "Good girl. Now come on. We've got work to do." Burt wasn't sure if anyone would pick up the orders or not, but if nothing else working would keep him and Brittany busy and their minds off what was going on outside. He pulled out a space heater that they were piecing together from old parts. "Come on. Let's see what we can do with this bad boy, okay?"

The work wouldn't help much, but it might just be enough to get them through the day.

***

Kurt huddled on the couch in Tom's office, taking deep breaths and reminding himself that he was still alive, even after an entire day and night of Cylon occupation. Not only was he alive, but he'd looked out the windows and there was no wholesale slaughter in the streets. There were humans moving around down there. And even Tom was still alive. Kurt shuddered. He didn't want to think of Tom, and the disappointment on his face when Kurt had stayed in the office, not following him to the _Astral Queen_ in a show of rebellion.

The door opened, and Kurt stiffened and automatically turned to see who was coming in. It was one of the Fives. He sauntered in, looking around the room with an air of propriety. He ran his hand over Tom's desk, made a face, and then looked around again. His gaze fell on Kurt and he grinned. Kurt drew back.

"Hello."

The Five could kill him, and then what would happen to his father? He had to speak. "Hello," Kurt managed to croak out.

"This office is terrible," the Five complained, his hands clasped behind him as he rocked back on his heels. "Old, awkward, and clunky. It's such a shame that humans don't have any appreciation of aesthetic flare." He smiled again. "In fact, the only thing worthwhile in this office is you." The Five stepped closer, eyeing him predatorily. Kurt shrank back against the couch as the Five came nearer and nearer, stopping well within Kurt's personal space. He reached out and fingered the lapel of Kurt's blazer, and Kurt's breath stopped completely.

"This jacket," the Five said, "it's really quite remarkable. I love the color."

It was the last thing Kurt expected to hear. "Thank you."

"Really. The red is just fantastic." The Five sighed and stepped back, and Kurt could breathe again. The Five clapped his hands together.

"So," he said, when Kurt didn't say anything, "I've been informed that you come with the office. Which is a nice touch, I admit. Not all of us rate an assistant."

"Oh." Well, if he was an assistant still, he wasn't dying. "What do you do… sir?"

"Sir." The Five brightened at that. "I like that. Well… Kurt, am I right? Kurt. You and I are going to be running the distributions."

Kurt's brows furrowed. "What does that entail?"

"Rations, mainly. Supply. A lot of other tedious but necessary jobs. A waste of my flair, and apparently of yours, but we want to make sure everything is fair, don't we?" There didn't seem to be room to disagree, so Kurt nodded. "Good. Now." The Five pulled out Tom's chair and sat down. Kurt cringed and looked away. "Let's get to work."

***

The day crept by. For the most part, people didn't come into the shop, although Burt wasn't surprised when Galen Tyrol did.

"You guys okay?" Galen asked. Burt nodded, and Galen leaned closer. "You heard the Fleet jumped away?"

"They really got away?" Relief flooded him.

"Yeah. Don't know if it'll do us any good, but they're out there."

"I want to believe that," Burt said. Not that it would do much good. Two battlestars couldn't do much against the entire Cylon Fleet.

"Take care of yourselves and hold tight," Tyrol said before he slipped off again. Already, Burt could see that this man was a soldier, and he was gearing up for some sort of fight. Humanity wouldn't bow that easily.

As the afternoon wore on, Burt and Brittany heard other sounds from outside. People in the streets, some even talking. Centurions marching by. The siren-type noise from _Colonial One_ to indicate the end of the shift.

"Should we go home?" Brittany asked.

Burt frowned. "Maybe. But maybe we should…" he looked outside into the streets. People were moving about. Their heads were down and their hands were in pockets, but they were moving, unhampered by the Cylons. "Maybe we should go over to the high school tent."

Brittany nodded and pulled on her coat. "You don't think the Fleet will have gone around to the other side of New Caprica, do you? Like an eclipse?"

"The Cylons would pick them up this close," Burt said. He pulled on his jacket and adjusted his hat. "Let's go. And stay close to me, you got it?"

They stepped out into the street, and even though nothing was happening, Burt cringed. It felt as if they would be shot at any moment. But no one seemed to notice them, and they joined the traffic of other people walking.

The high school tent wasn't far away. Burt didn't know why they were headed there- it wasn't like there had been any sort of message- but it seemed right. And when they entered, he _knew_ it was right, because not only were Will, Shannon, and Sue there, but Carole, Sam, Rya, Rachel, Lauren, Puck, and Mike and Tina with Blaine. The only two missing were Kurt and Quinn.

"Burt." Carole hugged him first, followed by Shannon, and Sue draped an arm around Brittany.

"Everyone okay?" Burt asked.

"Any word about Kurt?" Carole asked. Burt shook his head, and Shannon clapped him on the shoulder silently while Schuester pressed his lips together sadly. Burt wanted to yell that Kurt wasn't dead, but he had no idea.

"A whole lot of them came into Supply and took over," Rachel said. "They were awful- just awful."

"What do you expect?" Lauren asked. "They're toasters."

"But to see them up close like that! I never realized they were so _creepy._" Rachel shivered.

"How'd you not know? You knew one," Puck said. "I saw that Biers chick from TV walking around. She's a frakking Cylon."

"So's the priest that married us," Rya said, looking up at Sam. "Although we've known that one for a while."

"The Centurions are the worst," Tina said. "I can handle the ones that look human."

"They kept talking about how they're coming in peace," Mike said hopefully. "Maybe it won't be so bad."

"We've already seen them shoot to kill," Sue said, breaking in and staring Mike down. "There's no use pretending. If you all want to live in delusion about great societies and 'we come in peace', be my guest. But let's not fool ourselves and think that people aren't going to die."

"I was just saying," Mike mumbled, looking away. Tina rubbed his arm, and Burt couldn't blame him. Yeah, it would be nice to believe that the Cylons meant all that stuff about peace. But Sue was right: it already wasn't happening.

The tent flap opened and everybody went on edge, relaxing again when they saw that it was Kurt coming in. Burt sighed with relief, especially as Kurt came right to him. Burt hugged him tightly enough that Kurt's back cracked.

Kurt pulled back first. "Are you okay, Dad?"

"Me? I'm not the one up there in _Colonial One_. What's going on up there?"

"Is everyone dead?" Brittany asked. "Are you a ghost?"

Kurt shook his head. His face was pale, but he looked unhurt. Knowing Kurt was safe and that Finn probably was too and Carole was here and everyone else… a weight lifted off Burt's heart a little, and he could breathe again.

Schuester cleared his throat. "I'm glad you guys are all okay," he said, and Burt realized he was slipping into that teacher mode of his. "And since everyone's here, I think we should talk about how we can keep it that way."

"You think that's gonna happen?" Puck said. "Because I can tell you, I'm not sitting tight while those frakking toasters crush us." Lauren nodded.

Schuester sighed. "Look. Puck. I know that you-"

"You know what?" Puck asked. "Just in case you've forgotten, Mr. Schue, none of us are kids anymore. I'm twenty-one. I don't have to answer to you just because you're a teacher."

"I didn't say that you did! But you have a tendency to be impulsive, and that's going to get you killed!" Schuester looked around at the whole group. "The last thing I want- the _last_ thing- is for anything to happen to any one of you."

"But what's going to happen?" Rachel asked. "How long is this going to be?"

"I don't know, Rachel."

"They think they're here for good," Kurt said. "They think they can live in peace with us."

"Like hell they can," Puck growled.

"I didn't say it would work. I just said that that was their goal."

A lot of arguing and discussion broke out, with people worrying and trying to reassure themselves that this wasn't going to be as terrible as they all knew it was going to be. Burt took the moment to take Kurt over to the side. Carole followed.

"Listen," he said, staring at Kurt like it was the last time he'd ever see him. "I don't like you being up there on _Colonial One._"

"I know, but I can't just quit. They won't let me."

"I know." Burt cut that off before Kurt could go any further. "And that's exactly what I want to talk to you about." Burt took Kurt by the shoulders. "Look. Whatever happens during this occupation, you're a _kid_, okay? You're _my_ kid. And you're gonna have to do what you have to do to stay alive."

Kurt's eyes widened and he looked over at Carole. Carole nodded. "Your dad's right, honey," she said. "Working in the administration and so close to them…" she bit her lip. "You're in more danger than any of us."

"I'll be all right," Kurt said, but without any conviction.

"You will be." Burt's fingers tightened around Kurt's shoulders. "Because whatever you have to do to stay alive up there, you do it. Got that? You do whatever it takes."

"But-"

"Kurt. You're a low-level assistant. You're a kid. They're not going to ask you to do anything too big," Burt said. Carole nodded. "They're going to roll over you and make their own decisions, and if you argue or try to play the hero, they're going to shoot you and find someone else who will do it. You got that? You keep your head down and you do what they tell you and you _stay alive_."

Kurt looked from him to Carole, and his face looked so desperate and upset. Like he would be asked to shoot someone or walk through the settlement snatching food out of the hands of orphans. Burt had no clear idea how the occupation was going to go, but he did know that there were a lot of people they'd turn to before they looked to Kurt to do stuff like that. "Just keep your head down, okay?" he repeated. "Promise me."

"I promise."

Burt pulled him close and hugged him tight, and then released him to Carole. All the tension of the last few months was gone from the air between the two of them. No one knew what was coming with this occupation, but one thing Burt and Carole both knew was that the most important thing about it was getting their family through it alive.

***

People were beginning to leave. Kurt hung back. On the one hand, he didn't want to remember that humiliating morning a week ago involving Baltar. On the other hand, Sue deserved to know. Kurt pulled her over to the corner of the tent as the people who remained continued their discussions.

"What did you want to talk to me about, Porcelain?" Sue asked, once they were out of earshot of everyone else.

Kurt took a deep breath. "They took Tom away," he said, his voice shaking. "They've got him over on the _Astral Queen._"

"So?"

"So? But you- the other day- I saw-"

"You saw me leaving a booty call. That's all it was." She crossed her arms and stared straight at him, challenging him. "I'm not sure what you want me to do with this information."

The words exploded out of Kurt. "Get him out!"

"And how do you expect me to that?"

"I don't know! If I knew, I'd do it! I've already lost Blaine twice- I can't do the same thing with Tom!" To his horror, Kurt felt tears welling up. Sue gawked at him for a long moment, and then snorted and put a patronizing hand on Kurt's shoulder.

"I don't care if he gets out or not. But you obviously do. The best I can tell you is don't call too much attention to it. Don't let the Cylons think he's too important to you, or they will use it, just like I used Lee Adama's famous love of noodles to get him to hand over a small arsenal to me when we settled on this craphole. Worry about yourself right now. Because up there on that tin can, you're going to be the one who needs it."

Kurt nodded. He noticed his father looking in their direction and did his best to pull himself together. The last thing Kurt wanted was for his dad to worry about him. More than he would, anyway. He took a deep breath, wiped his face on the cuffs of his sleeve, and nodded. "Thank you."

Tom and Blaine were both heavy on his mind as he made his way home, tense and nervous as he walked through the streets. If Blaine was here, he'd at least have someone to hold on to. Kurt closed his eyes momentarily. If Blaine was here… Kurt couldn't even imagine how being pinned down by the Cylons on a planet would affect him. It would be like being plunged right back into the hell that was Caprica, only worse. The thought choked him, because he _really_ did not want to think that maybe it was better that Blaine was dead than here for this. He forced that thought sternly from his mind and entered his tent.

Quinn was sitting on his bed.

"What are you doing here?" Kurt blurted, because Quinn was the one person who hadn't gone to the high school tent. "Not that I'm not glad to see you alive, but-"

"The Fours are in the medical tent," Quinn said. She wiped her cheeks with the palms of her hands, and Kurt realized she'd been crying. Very delicately and gracefully, but crying all the same. "One even told me to call him Simon."

"Oh."

"Is this what it was like for you?" Quinn asked, and Kurt winced. "Is this what it's like to love someone and think they're dead and then to have them come back, but not really? He looked just like the Simon I worked with. Every detail. But he didn't know me. That's when I knew he wasn't real."

"Then it's not the same," Kurt said. "Blaine was real."

"So was Simon. The Simon I worked with, I mean. He was real," Quinn said. She wiped her nose and lifted her chin. "It turns out he's really dead. He didn't resurrect." She shuddered on the word.

"You asked?"

Quinn shrugged. "Wouldn't you?" Her eyes bored into Kurt, and he sighed.

"Yes." He sat down next to her. "So what are the Cylons doing in the med tent?"

"Being doctors, if you can believe that," Quinn said. She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes. Kurt impulsively reached over put a hand over them. Quinn gave him a dirty look, but put them away. "They want to know more about human life, and to be fair, which I _don't_ want to be, they seem to be pretty good at it already."

Kurt didn't even want to think about how the Cylons had come by that knowledge. "Is it all of them?"

"No. Just the Fours." Quinn shook her head. "You'd think one or two of the other numbers would be interested, but it's just the Fours."

"It's all of them up on _Colonial One_," Kurt said. "In fact, I-" He was interrupted by Puck exploding into the tent.

"Kurt. Quinn." Puck nodded at them and went straight to his bed, dropping to his knees and looking under the mattress. Kurt and Quinn watched him like he was insane.

"Please tell me we don't have roaches," Kurt said. "Believe me, I think that would be the final thing to tip me over the edge."

"Roaches?" Quinn asked. "Really? _That_ would be what tips you over the edge today?"

"Aha!" Puck was triumphant. "I knew I still had it."

"What is that?" Kurt demanded.

"A gun, dumbass," Puck said.

"I wasn't being literal," Kurt said dryly, but he eyed the gun in Puck's hands with trepidation. It was a big one, too, bigger than the pistol that Puck carried for security and left locked on the _Astral Queen_ when he wasn't on duty. "What I really meant was where did it come from?"

"Then you should have asked that instead. It was a souvenir. All the Marines took a few. I've got more." This time, Puck lay flat on his stomach on the dirt floor and pulled out a big box from under his bed. He flung it open and smiled. Kurt leaned forward and saw several boxes of ammunition, some grenades, and two smaller guns. Puck's smile was huge. "Come to papa, babies."

"What are you doing? You're going to get in trouble," Quinn said.

Puck looked up at her, all traces of his smile gone. "Do you really think that people are just going to lie down and let the frakking toasters walk all over us?"

"It's not like there's much we can do," Quinn said. "The Fleet jumped away."

"So? There's people on the ground."

"With what? Are you planning on throwing rocks at the Cylons?"

"Did you just miss the guns I pulled out from under my bed? I was kind of planning on shooting those."

"And getting yourself killed." Kurt was on Quinn's side. "What are those guns going to do, Puckerman? The Cylons resurrect."

"Yeah, but I hear it hurts a lot when they die." Puck didn't smile as he said it. He put the gun back in the case, clicked it shut, and shoved it back under the bed. "And you two can stop gaping at me like that. I'm not going to go out into the street screaming and taking Cylons out left and right."

"Then what are you going to do?" Kurt asked.

"Fight 'em till we can't fight 'em anymore," Puck said, sitting back on his heels.

"That doesn't even make sense," Quinn said. "How are you going to fight them?"

Puck just grinned. "You'll see."

***

Burt had told Kurt to keep his head down and do whatever it took to stay alive, but that was for Kurt. Burt wasn't in the habit of letting people push him around, and neither was Carole. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that people would be planning to get rid of the Cylons already, and both Burt and Carole wanted in. It only took one short conversation with Galen to find out who was running this operation.

Burt had heard about Colonel Tigh from Finn and Mercedes, but had never met him. From their attitude and jokes Burt had somehow pictured Tigh as fat, with a bad comb-over and a slightly vacant expression, even though he'd seen the man on television. He wasn't quite expecting the hard, lean man who Galen introduced them to, whose eyes raked over both Burt and Carole assessingly, immediately cataloguing how they could be of the most use.

"Either of you know how to use a gun?" was the first real sentence he said.

"Not so much," Burt admitted.

"Yes." Carole's voice was clear and definite. Burt blinked, amazed. Carole shrugged. "I did biathalon back in high school. I got pretty good with a rifle."

"What kind?" Tigh asked.

"I liked the Shilen DGV."

Tigh smiled. "Good taste. Anything else?"

"Chris and I used to go on dates to the shooting range, especially when he was in the Fleet. Handguns and rifles."

Of course. Now that she said it, Burt remembered Carole mentioning both of those bits way back. It just wasn't something they talked about. Tigh was really interested though. "You any good as a shot?"

"Had to aim to miss a few times, or Chris got annoyed."

Galen and Burt both laughed at that, and even Tigh grinned. "Good. You'll be of use, then. And you?" he said, turning to Burt.

"I could learn," Burt offered.

Tigh snorted. "Where? You think the Cylons are going to let us set up firing ranges for practice?"

"Fair enough. But there are more ways of taking out toasters than just guns."

Galen nodded. "He's right about that, Colonel. Some of them are more efficient, too."

"Efficient as you can be against an enemy that doesn't die." Tigh scowled, but his scowl was one of thought, not of disgust. "You're right, Chief. And I'm guessing a mechanic could figure out some clever ways of wiring things up, am I right?"

"Let's talk clear. You mean like bombs, right?"

"I mean bombs. I mean remote triggers. You think you can do that sort of stuff?"

"Don't know much about bombs, but I've picked up a lot about wiring," Burt said. "And that's all stuff you can learn in a tent. And I've got a workshop and a lot of tools that the Cylons aren't using yet."

Tigh nodded. "All right. You're in. We'll be in touch."

***

Somewhere in his head, Kurt had visions of himself, Gaeta, and Baltar rising above their differences and banding together under Cylon oppression. It took all of three days for him to realize that wasn't going to happen.

Baltar was worse than useless. As much as Kurt hated it, he could understand why Baltar surrendered. Resistance would not have sent the Cylons away. But the surrender pulled all the life from Baltar. He retreated behind his desk, mumbling, drinking, and definitely not showering. But even that horrid offense against hygiene was nothing compared to the fact that Baltar immediately started sleeping with a Six.

The Six was called Caprica for some bizarre reason. Kurt didn't ask why. All he knew was that she was the most fervent believer in the idea that the Cylons were here to live in peace with humans. She was the one who talked about God's will with a glow in her eyes and sincerity on her face, and Kurt hated her. But Baltar… it didn't even take the end of the first day for Baltar to have her back in his bedroom. There would be no resistance to the Cylons at all from Baltar.

Gaeta was another matter. He hated the Cylons too, Kurt could see it written all over him. But he cooperated, which made sense. The administration _had_ to do what they were told, because otherwise the Cylons would just kill or imprison them and put other people in their place, accomplishing nothing. After all, that was what had happened to Tom. And Kurt knew Gaeta didn't enjoy it. But instead of reaching out and finding any sort of companionship among the humans, Gaeta retreated into himself until he was just his job. He was just an empty shell following orders, and Kurt couldn't speak to him at all.

No Gaeta, no Baltar, no Tom. The last one made Kurt's heart physically ache. He wasn't even sure if Tom was still alive, although he supposed he was. In the few days that they'd been here, the Cylons had taken over the incomplete apartment building and already made huge strides on the construction. The walls were already rising higher and a huge fence was put up around the place. Kurt had heard that the Cylons would live there, but a big block of what was already built was being converted into a detention center to house prisoners. If the Cylons wanted people like Tom dead, there would be no need for prisons.

Tom was on his mind when he trudged into the office, ready to sit at his old desk with a new boss. "That's an interesting sweater," Doral said as Kurt sat down.

Kurt didn't answer. It was something Tom often said, and generally led to a bit of teasing about the way he dressed, and with this bright yellow sweater, a "serious discussion" on why the bright orange of Tom's prison jumpsuit was unacceptable but Kurt looking like a lemon was highly fashionable. It was a show of affection, and Kurt knew it. He didn't want it corrupted by this… this _toaster._ He clenched his jaw and stared down at his desk.

"I mean it," Doral continued, apparently sincere. "It really is interesting. The color is very compelling. It's something that many of the other models don't understand- bold colors make a statement." Kurt looked at Doral's hideous, badly-cut blue jacket and said nothing. Doral noticed him looking. "You agree, don't you?"

Kurt took a deep breath. "I agree."

"But you don't think much of what I'm wearing." Kurt wasn't sure how to answer that. He fumbled for an answer, and Doral sat back, eyes glinting at his confusion. "Don't worry," he finally said. "You won't get shot if you tell me you don't like it." Apparently the relief on his face answered Doral's question about the jacket. Doral looked down, fingering the lapels. "What's wrong with it?"

Could Cylons be sincere? Kurt wasn't sure, but there was something on Doral's face that made Kurt think he really wanted to know. "It's not the color," Kurt heard himself saying. "It's the cut. And what you have it paired with. The seams are shoddy, the shoulders don't fit right, the collar of the shirt is too high, and the pants take the color from bold to forcibly reminding one of toilet bowl cleaner."

"Well, I did ask." Doral didn't look pleased, but Kurt was pretty sure it wasn't a dangerous sort of displeasure. He narrowed his eyes, tapping his fingers against the desk, and studying Kurt. "So what makes it different that you can wear such a bright, bold color and pull it off? I don't understand."

"There's more to it than color." The words came out against his will as Doral stood up and paced, listening intently. "Like I said, fit matters. So does the quality of the fabric. The cut of the garment. What it's paired with."

"Interesting." Doral came to the front of Kurt's desk. "I'm not sure that I agree, but I do find it interesting." Doral leaned forward and touched Kurt's sweater. Kurt flinched back, and Doral raised one eyebrow mockingly. The message was clear- stay still. Kurt froze, and Doral ran his fingers over the fabric. He tapped Kurt's chest in a manner that forcibly reminded Kurt of that day that Karofsky had taken the wedding cake topper, and then stepped back. Silence hung between them. Kurt wanted to look away because Doral's expression terrified him, but was afraid to look away because he had no idea what was about to happen. But Doral stepped back. "Well?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to get back to work?"

Kurt turned back to his desk, letting his breath out in a relieved whoosh as Doral sat back down. The papers shook in his hands, and it took a great deal of focus to read the words. But after a while, the monotony of the paperwork calmed him.

The office was ponderously quiet. Even when he and Tom had both been absorbed in their work, it hadn't been like this. There'd been the rustle of pages turning and the sounds of pens or Kurt's typewriter, coffee cups clinking and occasional noises from either of them. Doral was silent. It made all those little normal office sounds so much louder.

The morning dragged on, and Kurt began to relax a little more. There were forms and memos and notes from Cylon meetings that he was expected to type up and distribute. Kurt noticed sourly that a race of machines had taken very quickly to bureaucracy. He finished typing a long, involved memo on ration procedures, and then picked up the next item. It was a list. He automatically loaded the paper in and began typing. It wasn't until he was halfway through that he realized it was a list of names.

"Is something wrong?" Doral asked.

Kurt realized he'd stopped typing and was staring that the list in shock. "What is this?"

Doral got up and looked over Kurt's shoulder. "Oh, that." He leaned down, examining the names that Kurt had already typed. "There are some citizens that we want to keep a closer eye on, that's all. Some that we need to get to know, that might require… extra convincing to make sure this 'grand civilization' goes smoothly. A small matter, really."

A lot of the names were familiar, but Kurt couldn't place them. Fischer. Maldonaldo. Nowart. He didn't know any of them, and couldn't figure out where he'd heard them until he saw right name in bold handwriting. Puckerman, Noah. They were all Marines, and Puck's name was right there on that list.

"You don't have to question him," Kurt blurted. "I live with him. I know him."

Doral raised his eyebrows. "Who?" He leaned over closer so that he could see which name Kurt was pointing to. His chest brushed against Kurt's shoulder, but Kurt steeled himself against flinching away. "Noah Puckerman," Doral read. "Well, he sounds like a very respectable young man, just from his name and your passionate plea. Nevertheless, I think a conversation is in order."

"What are you going to do to him?"

"Haven't you heard the will of God? We come in peace." Doral snorted. He still didn't stand up. "We're just going to talk. We might have to hold him for a few nights-"

"A few nights?!"

"But I'm sure he'll answer our questions satisfactorily."

Questions. Kurt could only guess what kind of questions those would be. And like Tom, Puck would rather die before cooperating. Kurt knew that- the evidence was in a box of guns under Puck's bed and a grim look on Puck's face as he told Quinn and Kurt he had every intention of fighting. Puck couldn't die. Kurt had lost Blaine, he'd probably lost Tom… he wasn't losing Puck, too.

"You don't have to question him," Kurt said, turning in his seat. "You don't. I- I know Puckerman. I promise."

"You promise." Doral leaned back a little, a mocking smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "You _promise_. That's touching, if not remotely useful."

"What would be useful?" Kurt blurted.

Doral leaned back even further, his eyes raking over Kurt's torso. Kurt swallowed hard, but then Doral reached out and fingered the fabric of Kurt's sweater again. "Bold colors," he said. "And I do see what you mean about the fabric."

"My sweater?" Kurt hesitated for only a second. He loved that sweater, but up against Puck being tossed into prison and possibly dying, the choice was simple. "You can have it. I'll even alter it so it fits you perfectly. Just please- believe me when I say you can keep Puckerman off your list."

"Is this a bribe, Mr. Hummel?" Kurt's throat closed with fear that he'd misread the situation, but he nodded. Doral smiled. "Good. Just so we're clear." He extended his hand. Kurt fumbled with the buttons and slipped the garment off his shoulders, handing it over. Doral put it on, an air of satisfaction about him.

"It's a little big in the shoulders," Kurt said. "I can take it in for you tomorrow. I'll bring my sewing kit in. My real one, I mean- not just the one I have for emergencies."

"Mmm." Doral was twisting around, trying to take in the effect. Kurt privately thought it looked just as ridiculous on him as the teal jacket had, but Doral was so pleased that Kurt wasn't going to say anything. "Finish your work," Doral said, sitting back down. "And make sure you leave that name off the list when you type it." He winked.

Kurt exhaled shakily and began typing. Name after name, some of which he remembered from Puck's stories. People for "questioning." But he'd kept Puck from that. Kurt decided he had to focus on that and not think about anything else, otherwise he wouldn't be able to handle it. With grim determination, he applied himself to the list.

***

Burt knew that he and Carole were far from the only ones willing to fight against the Cylons. There were military types, there were the survivors from Caprica, and there were people like Sue. There was a whole frakking resistance being organized. Yet there were no secret meetings or attacks or anything else. "So what are we waiting for?" Burt asked one day when he and Galen were working on the crews.

"Firepower," Galen said with a sigh. "Manpower. You hear about the Marines that mustered out?"

"No."

Galen stepped in closer and lowered his voice. "Bunch of them all got picked up two days ago."

"All of them?"

"Nah, they left a few of them." Galen picked his concrete smoother back up and went back to work on the floor they were working on. "A lot of them have gotten right back out again, too. But they've kept a few of them."

Burt remembered he'd seen Puck that morning, now that he thought about it, and he relaxed a little. "How many did they keep?"

"I don't know," Galen admitted. "I tried asking a couple of guys that I know in the administration, but fat lot of good that did. I know of three that are missing for sure, but there could be more. They took Anders' wife, too."

"Frak."

"Yeah. And it's got people scared. Not just civilians, but people who were military. People we were counting on." He hit the smoother against his hand. "Plus, we've only got so many weapons."

Burt sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Yeah. Guess I see the point."

"Listen," Galen leaned in closer, "I've got a couple of messages from the Colonel."

"I'm listening."

"One's not so much a message. It's a set of plans." Galen pulled a packet out of his pocket and handed it to Burt. "Tents don't really make for good places to plan, or to hide things. The Colonel's got his eye on your shop."

"On my shop?" Burt unfolded the plans, and then frowned. They were plans for dig-outs, cellars and tunnels dug under the earth. "Not so crazy about it being my shop," Burt said. "What about my tent?"

"Too far out of the network that we've got." Galen looked around. "What's wrong with your shop?"

"Brittany. Look, I'm willing to go into this, and so's Carole. But Brittany needs to stay out of it." He saw a set look coming over Galen's face and held up a hand to stop him. "It's not all the kids I'm arguing about here, Tyrol. But you've met Brit. You think she can handle a secret resistance?"

Galen reeled back a little as he thought about it. "Yeah. No, yeah, you're right. But if you hide the entrance-"

"Yeah." Burt was studying the plans again. "I'll work something out. What else?"

Galen stepped back, and he looked uncomfortable. "Your son."

"What about my son?"

"The Colonel knows he's in the administration. He wanted me to feel you out about if there's any chance he could get us information-"

"No."

"Burt. He's in one hell of a position."

"No." Burt had to strain to keep calm. "Kurt stays out of it."

"He can't just stay out of it," Galen said, pacing again. "He's already in danger just by being on this frakking planet."

"And I'm not putting him in any more."

"Burt-"

"Look, both Carole and I are going into this with our eyes open, okay? We know the risks. We're talking death here. And if they're picking up people already and holding them, we're probably not talking the quick and painless kind, right?" Galen nodded grimly. "So you can have me. You can have my wife. But the one thing I want from this is my son to be safe, as safe as he can be. You got that?"

"The Colonel's not going to like that."

"Yeah? Well, is Cally in this thing?" Galen looked away. "What about the Colonel's wife? That's what I thought."

"All right, I get it." Galen composed himself. "The last thing was this list. The Colonel wanted to see if you could get your hands on any of these things."

Burt took the list and unfolded it. It was a list of materials and tools. "I've got some of them in my shop," he said, scanning down it. "I'll see what I can do about the rest."

"You two," a One said sternly, glaring at Burt and Galen, "enough chatter." Immediately, they both went back to work. It made Burt sick to take orders from a Cylon, but he grit his teeth and got on with it. After all, people were being picked up and questioned. There was nothing good that could come of that. Burt pushed the what-ifs from his mind and focused on his work. The present was terrifying enough without adding to it.

***

By the end of a week and a half, it was amazing how much things had settled down and into a routine. Kurt was still on edge, but now he had a better idea of what to expect. The streets didn't feel any safer- nothing did- but either he was getting desensitized to it, or just learning to live with the constant threat. Work felt slightly better, but he was still glad to leave the office. Everyone in New Directions was settling down, too. For the most part, their jobs hadn't changed much, although Puck was no longer working any sort of security and had been moved to one of the construction gangs.

He knew that someone was visiting their tent even before he entered because he could hear Puck laughing. The laughter sounded out of place after two weeks of Cylon occupation, but it made sense when Kurt pushed aside the flap and saw Puck with baby Blaine on his lap. Puck was holding Blaine in a sitting position and making faces at him, and Blaine kept giggling and awkwardly reaching his chubby hands in the general direction of Puck's nose.

"So you should have seen Tina today," Mike was saying to Puck, looking at his wife proudly.

"Yeah? What happened?"

"We had skinjobs coming into the daycare," Mike said. "It's really…" he paused, searching for the word.

"It's really disturbing and creepy," Tina said flatly. "They come in and they stare at the kids like they've never seen one before. Which," she added with a sigh, "I suppose they haven't."

Puck frowned. "Of course they have. Haven't they? Hey! You got it!" Blaine managed to grab Puck's nose. "You little- ow!" Puck disengaged Blaine's hand. "He's got quite a grip. But what's the big thing about rugrats?"

"Cylons can't reproduce," Kurt reminded him as he unbuttoned his overcoat. "That's why everything with that Eight and Helo was such a big deal, remember?"

"Oh. That's right. Hey," Puck frowned, studying Kurt. "Weren't you wearing a tie this morning?"

"You actually noticed?" Kurt was surprised. And also not at all willing to answer the question, so he turned to Tina. "What exactly did you say to the Cylons?"

"She told them to frak off," Mike said proudly.

"Not quite like that. I told them that it upsets the children to have outsiders around and a lot of other stuff like that." Tina looked pleased, but Kurt's blood ran cold.

"How did they take it?" he asked, trying to look casual as he took off his overcoat and hung it up neatly.

Tina shrugged. "They didn't drag me out in the street and shoot me, obviously. They listened."

"What else was she going to do?" Puck demanded. "Stand there and let those toasters gawk?"

"I didn't say that," Kurt said. He sat down on the edge of his bed and pulled his knees up. He raised his hand to touch his tie and then remembered it was gone. "Just… be careful."

"Of course I'm being careful," Tina snorted. "I asked nicely. Firmly, but nicely."

"And they've shot people for less than that," Kurt reminded her.

"Nice, Kurt." Mike looked uncomfortable at the thought, like he'd been doing his best to forget about it. Kurt sighed.

"Ignore me," he said. "It's a long day up there on _Colonial One._"

"Can't you quit?" Tina asked sympathetically.

"Tom did," Kurt said. "Look where that got him."

"Well, not that dramatically," Tina said. "More like… maybe ask to do a different job? Get a transfer into something that's not on _Colonial One_?"

Before Kurt could answer, Puck yelped at the baby. "What is he doing?"

"Oh, he's rooting," Mike explained cheerfully. "Trying to nurse."

Puck let out a strangled noise and extended the baby. "Get him off!" Tina laughed and took Blaine, and then adjusted her clothing and began to nurse him. After four months she was practiced enough that she didn't reveal much skin, but Puck stared at her as if she was sitting there topless.

"You do know her husband is sitting right there, right?" Kurt asked dryly.

"Oh. Right." Puck tore his gaze away from Tina and turned to Mike. "So, tell me, man. Are the bigger boobs awesome, or what? And do you get milk when you-"

"Don't make me squirt you," Tina threatened. She and Mike laughed like it was the funniest thing ever, and Puck and Kurt exchanged rather horrified glances. But their horror dissolved into laughter, and inside the tent, it was a little easier to forget about the Cylon occupation happening outside.

"You know," Puck said after the Cohen-Changs left, "her boobs really are awesome now."

"And here I thought you were about to wax poetic on things worth fighting for." Kurt was heating up some soup.

Puck snorted. "Nah. Boobs make for better poetry. Besides, _everything_'s worth fighting for when it's the frakking toasters that are involved." He frowned. "Hey- did I tell you that Nowart's finally out of the _Astral Queen_?"

"I'd heard," Kurt said, staring at the soup. Nowart had been kept for three days. "Is he okay?"

"What do you think?" Puck asked with a sneer, which didn't really answer the question at all, and left way too much to Kurt's imagination. "Wonder why they haven't picked me up."

"They're only picking up people that were of a certain rank," Kurt lied, his fingers going to the place where his tie should have rested again. "They figured you're too low-ranking to know anything or command anyone. Stay out of trouble and you should be safe."

"Yeah, like I'd do that." Puck lay back on his bed, arms folded behind his head. "Good to know, though, that they don't care what I do."

"Oh, they're watching you," Kurt warned him.

"Good," Puck said. "Let 'em watch."

As the days ticked by, the great peace of the Cylons took its shape. Watchtowers and lights were put up. Centurions patrolled the streets to keep the peace. And the apartment complex that had never been completed rose into a dark bulk of a building, heavy and imposing and surrounded by a high fence. This was what peace looked like to the Cylon eye, Burt thought sourly, and it was all couched in phrases like "public safety", "best interests", and "temporary measures."

There was a little more freedom than Burt anticipated, though. He'd thought that it might be impossible to meet with anyone not on the construction crew, but as long as they met before the curfew, the Cylons didn't try to stop it. Yet.

"One day they're going to figure out what's going on," Shannon said as she sat with Burt and Sue in the high school tent. "When things heat up, it's going to be hard to get groups together. They'll start cracking down."

"Like to see them try," Sue said. She was shelling a bowl of nuts. "Unless they want to open up and bomb everyone-"

"You really think they won't?" Shannon asked

Sue conceded the point with a tilt of her head. "But they haven't yet, which means they've got to be somewhat serious about this crazy brainwashing kumbaya bullshit. If they weren't, they'd have nuked us all to hell and back by now. They're as serious about peace as Will Schuester is about hair gel."

"He's not even here to hear that," Burt reminded her, looking at his watch. Carole was a half-hour late. "Where _is_ Schuester, anyway?"

Shannon and Sue exchanged glances. "That's something we wanted to talk to you about," Shannon said. "Look, I love Will, you know that, right?" Burt nodded. "But Will's… Will's looking at things from a different perspective. He can't get it through his head that these kids are practically grown up right now."

"He's a frakking coward," Sue interrupted. Shannon glared at her, but Burt noticed that she didn't argue, and Shannon wasn't one to hold back her opinion of Sue's nonsense. Pleased with Shannon's lack of argument, Sue broke another nut open. "Oh, please. You think Will Schuester has the mettle do to what's going to need to be done? Of course not. He can't handle it." Sue sneered as she sat back. "One little explosion that makes the Cylons crack down further and he's going to be singing the party line about how we don't want to make it worse. And from there, it's only a step to believing their promises, and only one more step to turning us all in."

"Will wouldn't do that," Shannon said.

"You want to bet lives on that?"

Burt had the uncomfortable revelation that he really didn't know which woman he agreed with. Before he could answer, the tent flap flew open and Carole rushed in. One look at her face and Burt knew that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

"What the hell happened?" Shannon asked, jumping off her chair immediately.

"The plant," Carole said, gesturing in the general direction agitatedly. "The water treatment plant. The Cylons came down today."

"Everybody alive?" Burt asked.

"No." Carole's voice was curt. "They shot seven of my workers."

"Frak."

"It was supposedly an _uprising_," Carole said. Sue put a glass by Carole's hand, and Carole took a quick swallow, grimacing at the raw alcohol. "An uprising," Carole scoffed. "Only because they brought Centurions in."

"They brought chrome jobs in?" Shannon asked. "What did they think was going to happen?"

"Probably exactly what they wanted," Carole said, sipping her whiskey again. "People got angry. One shot went off and…" she shrugged angrily. "It was a mess, and now the Cylons are taking complete control of the facility."

"Frak," Shannon said, sitting back down slowly.

"So what's the bad news?" Sue asked. Burt and Shannon both stared at her, because seven people dead wasn't bad news? Sue was insane but… but Carole was bracing herself. Burt could see it in how quickly she downed the rest of her drink, and the expression on her face and the tenseness in her shoulders.

"When they restored order," she said, and her voice sounded choked and strange, "they took prisoners. They took Xeno Fenner, they took half my line…" She paused, wiped her eyes, and Burt knew this was it. "They took Sam and Rya. Sam and Rya are prisoners."

Burt felt the bottom of his stomach drop out of his body, and all the horror and the fears of this occupation became infinitely more real.

***

"You're serious," Kurt said. "They've got Sam and Rya?"

"They took them," Carole said, covering Kurt's hand with her own. "Yesterday. There hasn't been any sign of them."

"I… I don't understand." Kurt rubbed his forehead. "What would they want with Sam and Rya?"

"I'm not sure. At least Xeno made some sense- he was in charge of the plant- but Sam and Rya weren't even on the floor where the Centurions were. I don't know. But one of those Ones came in and told the Centurions to take both of them."

"By name?"

Carole frowned. "Now that you mention it… yes. He called them by name." She looked at Burt, her eyes wide. "The priest that married them…."

"He was a One." Burt had blocked that out. "But why would he remember that? They were just a couple of kids. He barely knew them." Carole shrugged helplessly, and Burt turned back to Kurt. "Look, Kurt. That's the thing. None of us have the first idea of why they were really picked up. And we have no idea of why they're being held." Kurt looked miserable at that thought, but Burt pushed on. "We were wondering if you knew."

"No. They don't talk to me about things like that." Kurt gave a bitter little laugh. "I'm just a machine for them to relay orders through. Nothing like a little irony, don't you think?"

"Yeah, well, I don't know about that, but do you think there's anyone up there that you could ask?"

Kurt frowned. "I can ask," he said. He didn't add any more, but the "but" hung there in the air. But it might not work. But he might not be able to find anything out. But even if he did, he might not be able to do anything about it. But it might make the Cylons angry. But he might get in trouble himself.

"Be careful, all right?" Burt said. "I don't like to ask you to do this, but-"

"No, no. I'll definitely ask," Kurt said. His answer was immediate. "I promise, Dad. I'll do what I can to find out."

"All right. Just don't get yourself in trouble, you hear me? Stay safe."

Kurt nodded. "I will."

***

Kurt selected three items of clothing very, very carefully before he headed up to _Colonial One_ the next morning. "What are you taking clothes for?" Puck asked suspiciously when he saw Kurt leaving the tent.

"Dry cleaning," Kurt replied glibly, and then left before Puck could press the matter. It had been easy then, but now that he was inside _Colonial One_ and headed to his office, he couldn't ignore the nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach when he thought about what he was going to do.

Doral wasn't in yet, and Kurt breathed a sigh of relief. He draped the garments he'd brought with him over the back of the broken-down couch. It really wasn't the best backdrop to highlight their potential, but it would have to do. The deep charcoal gray cardigan sweater in good shape. He'd have to take the shoulders in a little on the shirt he'd brought. And the tie… the tie was one Kurt really didn't want to part with, but it went so well with the other two pieces that Doral wouldn't be able to resist. Kurt arranged the three pieces together, and then went to his desk to sit down and wait.

The minutes ticked by on a clock, slowly and loudly. In the hallway, he could hear the voices of Cylons, and the occasional human voice as well. It was always easy to tell the human voices- they were muted and subdued. Subservient. He tried to focus on his work, but he jumped at every sound outside his door.

It was midmorning when Doral finally came in, whistling tunelessly in a way that grated on Kurt's ears and wearing a burgundy jacket that hurt Kurt's eyes. He tossed a stack of papers down on Kurt's desk, and then stopped suddenly when he spotted the garments draped out on the couch. "What's this?"

Kurt took a deep breath, stood up, and closed the door. Doral's eyebrows went up in amused interest. "There are two people I need to find," Kurt said, his back against the door as if holding it closed would secure his own safety. "Two people who were arrested a few days ago."

"Arrested?" Doral affected concern. He might even _be_ concerned- it looked like it might be genuine. "That's terrible. But I don't see what that has to do with half your wardrobe being spread across our office."

"I was getting to that. You know," Kurt said, going over to the couch and picking up the sweater, "as much as we both agree that bold colors catch the eye, the basics have their appeal, too, especially when the shape of the garment is unusual and eye-catching. Look at the Sixes, for example. They favor black, but they always- without exception- look fabulous."

"The Sixes would look fabulous in anything," Doral said, frowning. "Believe me. They were designed that way."

"True, but the point still stands." Kurt picked up the sleeve of the sweater and tried not to think about how much he really, really liked this one. "Fashion is more than color. Try it on."

Doral looked at him strangely, but picked up the sweater. "Oh. The fabric-"

"See what I mean?"

"It's… it's remarkable." Doral removed his awful blazer and pulled the sweater on.

"It looks good," Kurt lied. He moved around to Doral's back and adjusted the seams. "See? Well, I suppose you can't, because there's no mirror in here, but it really does flatter you."

"It's very… it's different." Doral's voice was dubious, but Kurt could see he was winning- Doral's fascination with the cardigan was written all over his face. But soon, the aware, calculating look was back. "So what did you want?"

"Sam Evans and Rya Kibby-Evans," Kurt said, trying to sound more confident and casual than he felt. "They were arrested a few days ago. Sam is my brother. Rya is my sister-in-law."

"Your brother?" Doral looked surprised. "You don't have the same last name. I thought that was the convention."

"My family isn't conventional," Kurt said, and dropped the subject. "If you would ask, I would be…." He wasn't sure how to finish that sentence, so he just gestured at the sweater.

"I see." Doral pressed his lips together, and then turned back to the couch. "This shirt doesn't look like much."

"It's broadcloth," Kurt explained. "Look at the texture."

"What texture? There's nothing there."

"Exactly. Formal. Classic. Subtle."

"Boring." Doral made a face, but it cleared. "There's a shirt I've seen you wear. It has black around the collar and down the front."

Kurt knew immediately which one he meant, because it was a favorite. But he forced himself to nod. "If they are released, I could even alter it for you. Fit is crucial."

"Mmm." Doral didn't look convinced. "Let me get back to you." He picked up the shirt and the tie.

"Wait, I thought-" Kurt began. Doral turned around and raised an eyebrow, his meaning clear, and Kurt broke off. "I thought… I thought you wanted to go over the minutes of the meeting with the security captain," he finished lamely.

"Later." Doral seemed supremely uninterested. He glanced at his watch, which Kurt suspected he did for show. "I have somewhere to be. I want those memos on my desk by noon."

"Yes, sir." Kurt slowly sat back down at his desk and Doral stalked out, carrying the clothing and looking extremely smug. Three items of clothing, just to find out what had happened to Sam and Rya. And more if he needed to get them out.

Kurt took a deep breath. "It's just clothing," he said out loud, softly. "They're people. Sam and Rya are more important than anything in my closet."

He believed that, completely and utterly, and if it got them out of detention, Kurt would give up his entire wardrobe. So the last thing he ever wanted anyone to know about was the fact he was crying a little as he typed the next memo.

***

It took three days for Doral to get back to him. Kurt was afraid to ask, because as of right now, Doral didn't seem upset with him. But Kurt was becoming familiar with Doral's volatile temper, and it was best not to rouse it. But finally, Doral came into the office and closed the door, and Kurt _knew_ what this was about even before he said it. He half-stood up from his desk, his heart swelling with hope.

"I can't do it," Doral said.

"What?" Kurt sat back down. "But I-"

"They're in detention," Doral explained. "For causing a disturbance at the water treatment facility."

"What did they _do_?" Kurt really couldn't imagine Sam causing a disturbance anywhere. "I mean, they were both line-workers before we landed here. It's not like they were military or-"

"I don't know." Doral shrugged. "What I do know is that Cavil has them flagged. It's out of my reach."

"But-"

"It's out of my reach. That's the end of it."

There was steel in his voice. Kurt knew when to back down. "All right. Thank you, sir, for at least finding out." It galled him to have to say that, but he knew better.

Doral smiled at him. Like Kurt should be _pleased_, like this was some great thing. "I'm so glad we could help each other, Kurt." His smile widened. "I _can_ call you Kurt, right?" Kurt nodded. "We work together very well. Someday, when this transition is over, you and I will be a model of how humans and Cylons can truly be friends."

"Right." It was the only word that Kurt could manage to get out without throwing up.

***

"Kurt says he talked to a Doral, but the Doral couldn't help," Burt said, as he and Puck worked on the cellar that they were digging under Burt's shop. The main work was done and the iron rebar had been put in for support, but now there were other niches to carve out, and electricity to wire in. The basement was accessed by a trap door hidden under a crate. It wasn't very big- it felt very close and tight with both Burt and Puck down there- but there was room for five or six people right now. But with the tunnel that they were digging, that would help, too.

"So, what did Kurt do after that?" Puck asked, kicking his shovel into the earth.

"What do you mean?"

"What's his plan? What's he going to do next?"

"Nothing, that I know of." Burt had a bad feeling where this was going.

He was right. Puck stopped shoveling and crossed his arms. "You mean to tell me that my boy Sam is in that jail with gods knows what happening to him, and all Kurt did was bat his eyelashes and say pretty please at some skin job?"

Burt put aside his own shovel. "What do you expect him to do?"

"I don't know. Keep asking other Cylons, maybe? Or here's a crazy idea- he could blow the frakkers from here to tomorrow if they don't give us Sam and Rya back."

Burt skipped over the obvious question of "how?" and went straight to the real problem. "And what good would that do? Let's say Kurt- and remember, you're talking about Kurt here- manages to get a bomb in there and set it off and get away again. What happens next? They don't die. They just download and come back, no matter how hard you blow them up. And then we've got Sam, Rya, _and_ Kurt in that prison."

Puck scowled. His eyes were dark and angry and he was fighting it, but Burt could see that the logic was making its way through Puck's brain. He could almost see when Puck got it- that there wasn't much else Kurt _could_ do. "All right," he muttered, and picked his shovel back up. "But it still bugs the hell out of me that they're in there."

"You and me both, kid." Burt looked around their dimly lit basement and then got back to work. "You and me both."

***

_CRACK._

The blow hit hard, and Kurt went sprawling across the floor. He tasted blood in his mouth, and when he prodded the spot with his tongue, he could feel a jagged cut in the flesh of his cheek. Doral loomed over him, and Kurt braced for another blow. But the blow never came. Doral stood over him, breathing heavy, and then reached down and wrapped a hand around Kurt's bicep and pulled him to his feet.

"I'm sorry," Doral said, and he seemed genuinely distraught. "I'm sorry, Kurt."

Kurt just nodded, still in shock. The blow hadn't come from out of nowhere- Doral had asked Kurt to type a memo about ration cuts, and Kurt had pointed out that the rations were being cut for pregnant and nursing women. It had escalated to an argument, but the Cylons were so kid-crazy and after a month of occupation, Kurt had gotten used to Doral enough that he'd felt he could voice this particular objection. But it was still a surprise- a surprise and a reminder. Kurt raised his hand to his cheek.

"I'm sorry," Doral repeated. He pulled Kurt's hand down so he could inspect the damage for himself, and then winced. "That looks bad. You should get down to the med tent."

"It's not bad," Kurt began, and then wondered why he was arguing. Getting to the med tent meant getting out of here and away from Doral, and right now, nothing seemed more appealing, and his cheek really, really hurt. He nodded.

"Wait." Doral picked something up, gripped it in his hand for a long moment, and then handed it to Kurt. It was a small chip. "Give this to one of the Fours, so he knows that I sent you." At Kurt's quizzical look, Doral added, "So you can be sure to get pain medication. It's under a fairly tight rationing, you know. And any other medical care you might need." He squeezed Kurt's arm one last time. "I really am sorry. You forgive me, don't you?" Kurt nodded, hoping that Doral would chalk his silence up to the pain in his jaw.

He was glad to get out into the cold air of the settlement, but as he trudged to the med tent, he noticed that people were watching him. It was something he'd noticed more and more, and it reminded him of being back at McKinley, especially back in junior year, when people would glare at him as he walked by and mutter under their breaths just because he existed. They were doing that now. Covertly, mostly, but Kurt noticed it because he'd spent so long attuned to exactly that.

_Collaborator._

He was starting to hear the whispers. He supposed they'd been happening for a while, but people hadn't been open about their thoughts. He kept his eyes forward and kept walking, determinedly pretending to ignore everyone but watching from the corners of his eyes. He was an old pro at this. Nevertheless, he was relieved to reach the medical tent.

The tent wasn't too busy. He saw his father's friend Tyrol sitting in one corner with his wife Cally, who was holding their baby. Cally's eyes widened, and Kurt touched his cheek self-consciously. It was swelling fast, and he didn't even _want_ to think what his face looked like. It was confirmed when Quinn caught sight of him and fumbled the tray she was carrying.

"Kurt. What happened?"

"Long story."

Quinn's eyes narrowed. "Does it involve humans?"

"No."

"Then it's not a long story." She put her tray down and gestured with her head. "Come with me." She led him back to a cubicle that was sectioned off by sheets, and Kurt sat up on the table.

Quinn's hands were cold when she touched his cheek, and the skin was extremely rough. Kurt remembered when they used to be almost as smooth as his own. Automatically, he looked down at his own hands. They were nothing like they used to be, either. He yelped as Quinn pressed on his cheekbone.

"Can you open your mouth?" Kurt obeyed. "Wider." He tried, and was met with a shaft of pain that made him grab for his cheek. Quinn sighed. She pressed a few other areas, and some made him cry out with pain. "I think you have a fractured cheekbone," she finally said. "We'll have to get permission from a Four to use the X-ray."

"We have to get permission?" Kurt asked. "Is it hard to get?"

Quinn pressed her lips together. Kurt knew that look- he'd seen it frequently enough in the choir room, although generally directed at Mr. Schuester, Rachel, Santana, or Finn. It was Quinn's _you're an idiot_ look. "You work in _Colonial One._ You don't know?"

"I don't know every last thing that goes on up there, no."

"Sorry," Quinn said, although she didn't sound it. She sat down beside him on the table and her shoulders slumped. "I shouldn't have snapped, but I have a patient right now who's having some sort of gastrointestinal issues. Dr. Robert desperately wants to use the X-ray, but because she's former military, he can't get permission. She might be a troublemaker. Not that the Cylons would admit that," Quinn added with a bitter little laugh. "They just cite resources."

Kurt remembered the chip Doral had given him and pulled it out. He turned it over hand, staring at it. His cheek was killing him- it hurt like nothing had ever hurt before. But at the same time… _collaborator._

"Quinn? What happens to me if I don't get the x-ray?"

Quinn shrugged. "I'll have Dr. Robert look at you first, but my guess is nothing. I couldn't feel anything, which means that if it is broken, it's a hairline fracture. It doesn't feel like it's displaced. You don't look like you have a concussion, but as long as you're not bleeding internally, there really isn't a whole lot that can be done. Ice and pain medication, really."

"So I need an x-ray because…?"

"Just because I can't feel it doesn't mean that the bone's not displaced. It really would be best to check."

Kurt thought about it, turning the chip over in his hands. "Here," he said thrusting it at her. "Take it."

Quinn looked at the chip skeptically. "What's this?"

"It's something from Doral to give to the Fours, ensuring I get whatever medical treatment I need. Tell them I need a x-ray. Can you get into the room where the x-ray equipment is alone?"

"I can't, but Dr. Robert can."

Kurt waved that off. "Whatever. Tell them you're going to do the x-ray on me, and then do it on your other patient. The one that they won't do it for."

Quinn goggled at him. "Seriously? You really want to do this?"

"Well, I'll check with Dr. Robert first," Kurt temporized. "But yes. If he agrees to it, I'll do it."

Quinn's face lit up. "I'll go get him." She patted him once on the knee and disappeared.

Kurt took a deep breath. He hoped he'd still be able to get some painkillers- his cheek _really_ hurt. It seemed like a small risk to himself to possibly save someone's life. He turned the chip over in his hand again, looking at it thoughtfully as he waited.

***

"I'd be willing to bet it's a hairline fracture," Dr. Robert said, feeling Kurt's cheek. "If it's a fracture at all. It could still just be damage to the soft tissue, although I understand the Cylons have enough strength to break a man's cheekbone with a blow." He shined a light in Kurt's eyes. "The blood vessel by your eye burst, so it will take a few days for the blood to clear out, but it looks like the bleeding itself stopped. You don't have a concussion, although I recommend you have someone wake you up a couple of times tonight. Do you have someone who can do that?"

"I have a roommate."

"Good. Well, Kurt, if you're really willing to do this, I could sure make use of that x-ray time." Dr. Robert stepped back. "I think you'll be fine, and I can manage to get some of the painkillers for you, if you'd like."

"I'd like them," Kurt confessed.

"Well, then. Ice. Lots and lots of ice. It shouldn't be too hard to come by. Cold compresses, anything to help with the swelling. Keep to soft foods for a few days, chew with the other side of your mouth. You'll be fine." He patted Kurt on the shoulder and left.

Quinn got Kurt an ice pack and a few pills. He swallowed them gratefully and put the ice on his cheek. The cold felt good, and the throbbing eased slightly. Quinn sat down on the table next to him. Her shoulder was against his, and they both unconsciously leaned into the contact. They were both consciously disobeying orders to save someone's life. Kurt tried not to think of the implications of that, but he had to, and as he did, second thoughts began creeping up.

"We work with the Cylons," he began slowly. _Maybe we shouldn't be doing this. Maybe we have to-_

"Don't say it," Quinn said, shaking her head. "Don't… just, don't."

Kurt nodded, and they sat in silence again.

***

"What the hell happened to you?" Puck demanded as soon as Kurt entered the tent.

"It seems impossible that three years ago, you wouldn't have cared," Kurt said lightly.

"Don't frakking change the subject. What the hell happened?" Puck stood up and approached, and much to Kurt's shock, gripped his chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned his face. "What the hell-"

"Don't touch it," Kurt begged. "It's a fractured cheekbone."

Puck stepped back, his face darkening. "It was a toaster, wasn't it? Those frakkers can hit like nothing I've ever felt before." Kurt shrugged. "It was the one you work for, wasn't it?"

"Am I really that easy to read?" Kurt moved over to their crate where their meager rations were stored, hunting for some dried soup mix. "I'd appreciate it if we just left the subject."

"Are you kidding? This is great!"

Kurt whirled around. "Great? How is a fractured cheekbone _great_?"

"Because now you can leave." To Puck, it was simple. "Look, I get why you haven't gotten the hell out of there before this, but it's got to be driving you nuts, collab- working there. And you've said that some of the lines are a little more sympathetic, right? Like that toaster you said Baltar's frakking?" Kurt saw where this was going. "So, go to one of them and complain. Say that you want to switch to a construction crew or another clerking job or whatever. Get out of there now. With the way your face looks-"

"Does it really look that bad?"

"Yeah, it looks awful. But with the way your face looks, one of those chick Cylons will melt enough to move you, and you're not working in the administration anymore, and you don't get yourself killed for quitting. This is _perfect._"

Kurt's heart leapt for a moment, because Puck was actually right, and because getting away from Doral would be amazing. It would also mean that there was no one to keep Puck off the lists of troublemakers. That right there was a reason he couldn't leave the administration, and then today… today he might have helped save someone else's life, too.

"So?" Puck said, and Kurt realized he'd been quiet too long. "What do you think? Brilliant plan, right?"

"Yeah. Brilliant plan."

"So are you going to do it?"

Kurt turned to look at Puck, who was watching him excitedly. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I have to think about it." Puck stepped back, and the happiness and openness on his face faded fast. He looked less like Kurt's friend and more like the boy who used to toss him in the dumpster years ago. Kurt couldn't bear to see that expression come back. "I'll think about it, okay?" he begged. "There's a lot to consider."

"Right." Puck stalked over to his bed, throwing himself down and pulling the blankets up over him. "You think about if you want to keep doing their dirty work when you've got a perfectly good way out."

"You have no idea what-" Kurt began, and then stopped. Puck couldn't know. "You have no idea what it's like up there," he finished lamely.

"Don't need to. They're toasters, Kurt, and that's all I need to know." And with that, Puck turned out the light, leaving Kurt standing in the middle of the tent in darkness.

***

"My God," Doral whispered when he saw Kurt the next morning, staring at his cheek with a horrified fascination. "Is it-"

"Broken?" Kurt finished for him, sitting down primly. "Yes."

"I'm sorry. Kurt, I'm so sorry." Doral advanced closer and closer, until he was right in Kurt's space. Kurt forced himself to sit still. Doral cupped his cheek (which _hurt_, why did everyone insist on doing that?) "This is not how this new civilization was supposed to work."

_Pretend to forgive him._ Kurt met Doral's eyes. The touch on his cheek felt more intimate that way, more… not loving, but… but it was something he could have imagined Tom doing, in a moment of physical affection. But there was something off in Doral's expression that reminded Kurt deep down of just how dangerous Doral could be. He looked away, casting his eyes downward.

"Is it all right, Kurt?" Doral's voice was gentle but insistent. "Is everything all right?"

Kurt looked back up. "Everything's all right," he lied. Doral gave a small smile, and finally rocked back and out of Kurt's space, and Kurt could breathe again. Doral smiled one more time, and then retreated to his desk.

Kurt took a deep breath and pulled up the forms he'd planned on working on today. They were forms applying for medical permission, each one detailing a case and signed by a human doctor and approved by a Four, requesting medicine or access to specific medical equipment. Kurt was supposed to present these papers to Doral, who was supposed to compare them against the supplies of medicine and determine what could be done, and then Gaius Baltar's signature was required. It was an awful lot of work from people who shouldn't have even been involved, but Kurt supposed that was insurance on the Colonies, too. But because it was so much work, it usually amounted to Baltar not seeing any of the papers, because Doral categorically rejected them.

Quinn had given him five names, five people who desperately needed what those forms could provide and who probably wouldn't get it. Keeping an ever cautious eye on Doral, Kurt filled out the forms and then very carefully forged Gaius's Baltar's signature on each of them. He stared at his handiwork, hoping that it would fool machines that could spot tinier details than his eyes could. It would have to. He put the five applications into a drawer and turned to the next item on his list, a little soaring feeling in his chest. It was a huge risk, but he was doing _something_.

The war was on.

***

He was able to give Quinn three more signed forms before he found himself staring at a newly drafted medical permission form, which required not only President Baltar's signature but also authorization from a One and one other line. A _One._ Kurt could bribe Doral, he could have relied on an Eight or a Six and maybe even a Two to show some compassion, and he could have appealed to a Four's scientific nature. He was powerless against a One. He thudded heavily into his seat, staring at the new form.

"Why did it change?" he heard himself asking Doral.

Doral sounded unconcerned. "For protection, of course."

"How is this protection?" Kurt's eyes were starting to burn and the paper was getting blurry in his vision. He couldn't let Doral see how upset he was over this. His fractured cheekbone still kept him up at night. "Who are you trying to protect?"

"Everyone." Doral looked maddeningly superior. "What does it matter to you?" His eyes met Kurt's and it was clear. Doral _knew_ what he'd be doing.

"There have been some people exploiting the system," Doral continued. "And really, I understand that. I can see their intentions are good, and that they only want to help people, and that intent shouldn't be punished. At least, _I_ don't think so. But those people are overstepping their boundaries and getting into areas they don't understand." Doral's voice sharpened. "It needs to stop. Or next time, I will have to punish someone just for being compassionate." Kurt looked down, and Doral dropped all pretense. "Stop messing with things you don't understand, Kurt, or next time, I might not be able to protect you. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," Kurt said, shoulders slumping. "We're clear."

_Frak._

***

"This feels wrong," Burt said. "I know it's Rachel's birthday, but Sam and Rya are still in detention. A little cold, you know?"

Carole, former military wife, shook her head. "No. They need to come up for air for a bit and be young and happy. It's hard on them. Rachel's birthday is a good excuse."

The kids had each managed to bring something to pool for dinner. Shannon and Will had strung small lights up in the high school tent, and there was even some music playing. As far as New Caprican parties went, this one was downright lavish. The kids all gathered at one of the long tables, relaxed and talking.

"We should join them," Carole suggested, taking Burt's arm. "It's a party."

"Yeah." At least, it looked like one, on the surface. But Lauren was toying with her knife, not eating and her eyes focused far away. Puck kept glaring at Kurt, who had a nasty bruise that he refused to answer questions about. In fact, Kurt had seemed a bit withdrawn at first, although Burt thought that might have just been his imagination, as he was now sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Rachel, looking as happy as he ever looked these days. Quinn looked sour. But Brittany was playing with Blaine, who was awake and alert on Mike's lap, and Tina was smiling as she talked to Schuester and watched them.

Burt was just about to sit when the sounds of gunshots tore the air apart. For one terrible moment he thought that the Cylons were shooting into the high school tent, but his mind cleared and he realized that the sounds were coming from outside the tent. But it was definitely Centurions.

"Stay here," he ordered the kids.

"Dad, where are you going?" Kurt was anxious. "You can't go out there. They're shooting!"

Carole caught his arm. "Kurt's right, Burt. What are you going to do?"

Burt stopped. Outside the tent, the shooting stopped as abruptly as it had begun, but they could still hear screaming. Rachel buried her face in Kurt's shoulder, and Mike was holding Blaine so tightly that Tina had to take the baby. Puck looked angry, but Lauren's barely reacted at all. Burt wondered if that was how she looked all the time on Caprica.

It was Quinn who spoke first. "I should go out there," she said firmly. "I might be able to help."

She might. Burt didn't like the idea of her going alone, though. "I'll go with you," he said, even though there wasn't much he could do to protect her. But Carole's hand tightened on his arm in silent support, and together, the three of them walked out into the streets.

Burt knew that he would never forget the sight of a father on his knees, cradling a child to his chest. It was all too easy to imagine how soon that could be him. Quinn ran over, but he knew the verdict even before she bent down to touch the boy. People were standing around helpless, uncertain of what to do. And there were several other bodies lying on the ground. And over it all stood several Centurions, an Eight and a Six, both looking horrified, and a One, looking grim.

***

Silence. The shootings were met with silence, and over three thousand candles.

Violent protest was impossible. It would only result in more deaths and the Cylons cracking down harder, imposing more regulations and more restrictions. Instead, the humans took to the street, candles in hand, and held a vigil for the victims of the shooting. There were no speeches, there were no songs. Just silence and candles.

Burt stood between Kurt and Carole, holding his candle and remembering what Tigh had said when he'd heard. _Fat lot of good candles will do._ He hadn't said anything more, but he'd made his opinion known. Burt had gone to the vigil anyway, if nothing else, out of respect for the dead.

Three thousand candles were answered with the New Caprica Police.

The Cylons professed their horror at the actions of the Centurions, and the result was the formation of the New Caprica Police. Instead of Centurions patrolling the streets, it would be humans.

"It's not a bad idea," Will Schuester insisted when the five adults met in the high school tent for dinner. "It gets the Cylons off the streets."

"It's a terrible idea," Sue informed him flatly.

"Why? We had a human police force before this. What's the difference?"

"The difference is who's giving the orders," Shannon said. Her face was grim as she answered.

"Oh my gods," Sue said slowly, staring at Shannon in horror, "the worlds really _have_ ended. We agree on something."

"Yeah, well, I would have thought the bombs blowing everybody else up would have tipped you off by now," Shannon said dryly. She leaned toward Will. "Will. Pumpkin. It's not a good idea. With the Cylons in charge-"

"But that's the way it's always going to be," Will snapped. "The Cylons are always going to be in charge. There is no way that this city- because that's all we are, a city smaller than Lima- can fight back against the Cylons? With no firepower and no military?"

Everyone exchanged glances. "There's rumors the military will come back," Carole said finally.

"And if they do, they'll be destroyed," Will said. He looked miserable as he said it, leaning his face against his closed fist. "Two battlestars against all of the Cylons forces… it can't be done. Adama might come back for us, but he wouldn't win. The only chance we've got is to cooperate with the Cylons. Who knows? Maybe we can forge some kind of peace-"

"No," Sue said, dropping her fist to the table. "There's no such thing."

Will ignored her. "What do you think, Burt?"

"Listen," Burt said, slowly and carefully. "I'm not saying that I think you don't have a point. We don't know if _Galactica_ will come back for us, and more important, we don't know if they'll succeed. You're right about that. And keeping your head down and going along as best you can- all that's just good sense. But this NCP… this is something different. This is asking humans to do the Cylons' dirty work for them. And all this stuff about them promising anonymity and protection to people who join? That's only going to result in people never being sure if their neighbor will inform on them. That's what it's really going to do- not protect the people who go in. I see what you're getting at, Will, but I'm with Sue and Shannon and Carole on this one. The NCP is a bad idea."

Will sighed in frustration, flopping back against his chair. Burt met Shannon's eyes. She was the one who was closest with Will, and she looked as upset as Burt felt.

"It's going to happen soon, don't you think?" Carole asked Burt as they walked back to their tent. "This resistance? Getting _something_ going against the Cylons?"

"Gods, I hope so," Burt said, pulling her close. "But when it does, it's only going to get worse."

"I know." Carole sighed. "Burt… how much do you think we stand to lose?"

Burt frowned into the darkness. "Everything, I guess. Everything but our souls. I guess that's what we're really fighting for, when this all kicks off. Because Will's right about one thing- we don't have much of a shot at anything else."

They walked home together in silence.

***

Burt was in the shop with Brittany the next time they heard gunfire. Brittany paused in her work like a deer caught in headlights, frozen as she stared out the open flap of the tent. Burt put his own repairs down and came over and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"It sounds like it's over by the temple," Brittany said. "The one to Aphrodite."

"It can't be," Burt answered. "That's the one thing I'll say for the Cylons- they leave the temples alone. They let it be sacred ground."

It was the temple. He found out that night, when Galen dropped by the tent.

"You and Carole want to come over for dinner tonight?" he asked, and the way his voice was pitched low and the anger in his eyes told Burt everything he needed to know. "The waiting is over. It's time to get moving."

Burt nodded. "We'll be there."

It was finally time.

Burt was pretty sure Shannon could hear his heart pounding. They were lying on the ground under a stall, and a rock was digging into Burt's ribs. He focused on that instead of the nervous roiling in his stomach as he fingered the remote in his hand.

"All right. It's set," Shannon whispered. "You gonna be ready to run?"

Burt ignored that. "You sure this is going to work?"

"No."

"Comforting." He turned his attention back to their target, which was a Cylon rationing station. There were several skinjobs standing in line, talking. If they pulled this off, this would be the fourth target the Resistance had blown up since the temple had been raided a week ago. Burt wiped irritably at his forehead where sweat was starting to bead, despite the chill. "All right. Let's see what this baby can do." He pressed the button.

For a second, nothing happened, but that second seemed longer than it really was. Then the explosion went off in a burst of noise and heat and light. Even though he was already on the ground, Burt instinctively ducked his head and plastered his face against the dirt.

"Come on." Shannon was tugging on his arm. "We have to run."

He struggled to his feet and followed, running faster than he'd ever thought he could run. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw the destruction they had wrought- the rations tent in flames, the chaos, several Cylon bodies on the ground. A raw, grim pride swelled up in him, and he ran faster, until he and Shannon made it to one of the Pyramid courts, probably a good half mile away from their site. A game was going on, so they sat on the bleachers where a few other people were watching.

"Anyone follow us?" he asked as they thudded onto the seats.

Shannon looked back at the way they came. "Don't think so," she said, mopping her face with her hand. She looked at Burt and laughed. "We'd better get cleaned up, though. It's pretty obvious it was us."

Burt wiped his own face, and his hand came away grimy. "Yeah. After we-"

Tigh sat down next to them. "Nice big boom," he said, his eyes on the people playing Pyramid. "Good work."

"Thanks," Burt said. He was still breathing heavy. He'd have to start jogging or something if they were going to keep this up. "What happens next?"

Tigh shrugged. "We build more bombs. And we keep doing it all again, until they get the message. Or kill us, whichever comes first."

"Right." Burt's heart sank as he realized this first one was only a drop in the bucket. The Cylons they'd killed would download, the station would be rebuilt, and in a few days it would all be back to normal. They'd only just gotten started. But it had felt _good_ to get a little back at those frakkers, and Burt was ready to do it again.

***

"Hummel."

Kurt looked up from his desk, startled at the human voice. Gaeta stood in the door, a ream of papers in his hand. "What is it?"

"Caprica Six said to tell you that Doral isn't coming in today. He was killed in the bombing yesterday."

"Oh." Kurt slumped in relief. "So he's… dead?"

"For thirty-six hours," Gaeta said wryly. "He'll be back tomorrow."

"Oh."

Gaeta looked around the office. "I need help with the rations guidelines and the distribution of the NCP incentives."

"All right." Kurt put aside his work but before he could stand, Gaeta stepped into the office and closed the door. He silently handed Kurt a pile of papers, and then sat down on the couch and began to do his own work.

Despite working in the same ship, Kurt hadn't seen much of Gaeta since the Cylons had arrived. He'd been fixed to Baltar's side, and he never protested anything that the Cylons did. In fact, Kurt was aware that Gaeta was their go-to guy if they wanted something done and done well. While Kurt was mildly offended that he wasn't held in the same regard, he was also relieved. The things that Gaeta had to do… Kurt was glad it wasn't his name on some of those memos and orders that went out. But then, Gaeta didn't seem to mind it.

Gaeta didn't speak. In fact, now that he was inside the office, he was acting like Kurt didn't exist. He bent over his own work, his brow furrowed in concentration. Kurt watched him for a long moment, and then followed his lead. Neither of them said a word.

After a while, the silence started wearing on his nerves. Kurt had read the same sentence five times over without understanding it when the words burst out of him. "What are you doing in here? You could have just handed me the work. Why are you lurking?"

Gaeta looked up at him. "They're not in here," he said, as if it was perfectly obvious. "Even _you_ are preferable to them."

Kurt sighed irritably. "You'd think that with everything happening you could put some things behind us."

"You'd think." Gaeta seemed undisturbed. "Please stop talking. This worked better when you were silent."

Kurt opened his mouth to respond, and then shut it again. For one, he had no suitably cutting response, and for two, Gaeta was right. As annoying as Gaeta's mere presence was, if Kurt had to choose between Gaeta and Doral, he'd pick Gaeta every time. At least Gaeta stayed across the room, and Kurt felt safe with him. They let the day pass in silence, speaking only when necessary.

The silence with Gaeta was better than the silence at home, Kurt realized when he stepped into his tent. Puck was sitting on his bed cleaning a gun, and he didn't even look up as Kurt walked in. "Hello."

Puck didn't answer.

Kurt sighed and put his satchel down on his bed. "Doral was killed in the insurgency bombing the other day," he said. Puck shrugged. "Not that I mind," Kurt continued. "I don't know why you think I care."

Puck looked up. "I've seen that Five. You helped him with his hair." Which was true. Hair advice, of all things, had been deemed an acceptable trade for Puck's safety. There had been more and more lists these days, more and more people brought in for questioning.

"You help him with his hair, you work for him… what's next? Are you going to do his nails?"

"If he asks me to, yes." Kurt sat down on his bed. "I'll do what I have to do."

Puck snorted in disgust. "Yeah. You're getting pretty good at that."

_It's for you, you ignoramus_, Kurt almost said, but held the words back.

"Know what I had to do today?" Puck said. Kurt looked at him in surprise- Puck didn't volunteer information much. "Had to talk Mike out of joining the NCP."

"What? No!"

Puck's eyes were dark, and his expression didn't soften at Kurt's surprise. "Of course I had to, you frakking idiot. With the rations cuts, Mike's worried about Tina getting enough to eat so she can feed Blaine. He thought the only way he could get enough was to join the NCP. I told him I'd give him some of mine."

"I will, too," Kurt volunteered immediately. "We can share it."

Puck softened. Not much, but a little. "You could talk to that frakking Five when he gets back."

"I will," Kurt said. "I promise. I will." Puck cracked a little smile, and while it wasn't much, it was at least something, and Kurt relaxed a little more. Puck at least answered if Kurt spoke the rest of the night, and a little of the coldness faded. But Kurt was pretty sure it was only going to get worse as time went on.

***

Burt was working in the labor crew when he heard gunfire across town. It had become a familiar sound, but this time it froze him in his tracks. A small squad of humans ambushing a Cylon party headed out to one of the farms, and Carole was with them.

Burt didn't really know where he stood on the Gods anymore. Carole still believed, even more devoutly than she had before the attacks on the Colonies; Kurt was even more adamant that they didn't exist. Burt wasn't sure who was right, but he said a little prayer- if someone _was_ listening, it couldn't hurt. Just please, let Carole be safe.

"Burt Hummel?"

Burt jerked back into the here and now to see a One addressing him. He had to remind himself he'd _just_ heard the gunfire- this wasn't about Carole. "Yes?"

The One smirked a little. "Come with me. To the detention center." Burt froze, and the One laughed mockingly. "Oh, not like that. Your son."

"My son?" Burt repeated stupidly, and his heart careened against his chest in a whole new way. They had Kurt. The bastards had Kurt and… gods, Burt couldn't even think about it. He followed the One wordlessly, simultaneously seething and terrified. But when they arrived at the detention center, the One didn't lead him inside. Instead, the heavy gate opened, and Sam Evans was let out.

"Sam!" Burt pushed down the guilt he felt at not even _thinking_ it could be Sam and hurried to the boy's side. Sam was a lot thinner than he'd been a month ago, a lot paler, and his hair was lank and dark and shaggy. Burt pulled him into a tight embrace, and at first, Sam was stiff in his arms. But then Sam began to cry, leaning against Burt.

"I'm sorry," he kept saying. "I'm sorry, Burt."

Burt tightened his arms. "It's all right, Sam. You're okay now." He looked around. "Where's Rya?"

The One who'd brought him here shook his head. "She's not released yet. We still have some… questioning."

The way Sam tensed told Burt a lot, and anger flared at anyone laying a hand on these kids. "You monster. You frakking monster. You-"

"We can always take Mr. Evans back in, Mr. Hummel. Or you yourself." Sam winced, and Burt got a firm hold on his temper.

"Come on, Sam," he said, glaring at the one. "Let's get you home."

As they walked away from the detention center, Sam relaxed a little, although he kept glancing over his shoulder. "She's still in there," he told Burt. "They told me that they wouldn't hurt her, but… but she's still in there."

"We'll get her out," Burt promised, although he had no idea how. They wound their way through New Caprica, and Burt noticed that Sam walked hunched in on himself, not looking at the community around him. "You okay? Or do you need the med tent?"

"I'm okay," Sam said quickly. He looked at Burt. "It wasn't that bad. I mean, yeah, it was bad, but they didn't… they didn't… _hurt_ me. Not like what you're thinking." _Much._ Burt wasn't sure if he imagined that last word, or if Sam said it so softly that it was too hard to be heard. But Sam pulled himself together and asked, "Is everybody else still okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you're the one we've been worried about- you and Rya. Come on. Let's get you home and get some food into you." Burt wanted to put as much distance between them and the detention center as possible. "We'll figure out what to do next after that."

***

Burt was eating some leftover soup with Sam when Carole came home. She was tired and filthy and there was a streak of blood across her forehead and a bandage on her wrist, but when she saw Sam sitting at the table, Burt knew she felt it was worth every risk she'd just taken. "Honey! Oh, Sam, honey! You're safe!" Sam stood up just in time to hug her properly, and Carole hugged him even tighter than Burt did.

The word spread. Burt had managed to get word to Brittany, and the New Directions gossip chain took hold. By the time Carole had been home for an hour, all the kids were crowding into the tent. Burt tried to keep them back a little so Sam wouldn't be overwhelmed, but at the same time, he got it. They needed to see Sam, because Sam coming back to them was hope. And Sam seemed happy, although he made it clear he didn't want to talk about detention or Rya. What he really seemed fixed on was Blaine.

"I can't believe how big he's gotten," he said, staring at the baby, who was cuddled on Mike's lap. "How old is he now?"

"Almost six months," Mike said proudly. "And look!" He took his hands away, and Blaine righted himself into a wobbly sitting position all by himself. Sam grinned, but the sadness in his eyes was apparent. Blaine had been four and a half months when the Cylons had taken Sam and Rya, and he'd probably changed a lot to Sam's eyes. Burt turned away just in time to see Kurt and Puck come in.

Puck went immediately over to Sam, pulling him out of his chair and into a tight hug. Kurt hung back, watching warily. Burt joined him.

"You did it, kiddo," he said, clapping Kurt on the shoulder. "You got him out."

Kurt frowned. "No I didn't, Dad. I had nothing to do with this. I mean, I _wanted_ to, and I asked Doral, but he told me it couldn't be done." On the other side of Kurt, Puck scowled. Burt could tell that Kurt was pretending not to notice. He took a deep breath and lifted his chin. "But whatever happened, I'm glad you're out," he said to Sam.

"Thanks, man." Sam extended his hand to Kurt. "I'm sure you tried."

"Tried," Puck muttered. "If cowering after one toaster tells you no counts as trying."

Kurt pressed his lips together tightly, and Sam looked uncomfortable. "Come on," Mike said awkwardly, shifting Blaine on his lap. "I'm sure Kurt did what he could-"

"Right. He _asked_ a Five. A _Five._ Didn't even ask a One or a Six."

"Puck, lay off." The order came from Quinn, and sharply at that. "You have no idea what it's like working with the Cylons-"

"Oh, but you do, right?" Puck asked, turning on Quinn. "You're as bad as he is, right in there with them, working with the Fours."

Quinn crossed her arms and stared Puck down. "And what would happen if I left my job? That would be one less medic."

"You don't need the frakking Cylons to heal people!" Puck said.

"But I do need them for supplies and medicine."

"That's enough," Burt said, stepping in. "This whole occupation is crazy, all right? We're not getting anywhere making these kinds of accusations."

"Besides," Sam spoke up, "Kurt's right. It was a Cavil that let me out." Quinn and Puck's glares still could have lit fires, but Lauren pulled Puck into another conversation and Sam started talking to Kurt, so the emergency passed.

Burt stood back, watching the kids. Despite their happiness that Sam was back safe, he could see the cracks forming. And he was pretty sure it was only going to get worse.

***

"I'm looking at a new list of NCP recruits," Doral said slowly as Kurt walked in the door. "It is very striking to me how many of these brave young men and women have no military experience."

Kurt froze. "Oh."

"Enrollment is not what we had hoped," Doral continued. He stood up walked closer, until Kurt could smell him. It wasn't necessarily an unpleasant smell- Doral used some sort of cologne from the baseship and probably smelled better than Kurt, who rationed his own products fairly strictly. But the scent made Kurt's nostrils flare out in distaste. "It's a surprise, really. Civilization requires order and enforcement. People don't want the Centurions policing them, which I do understand. And yet, they don't care to take on the job themselves."

"You could appoint a few humans as heads of security," Kurt suggested. "Put them in charge." Doral didn't answer that except with a mocking glare. Kurt's shoulders slumped and he sighed in resignation. "What do you want, sir?"

"What do I want?" Doral was acting offended. Kurt wished they could skip this part of the dance and just get to the end already. "You talk as if I've made demands on you, Kurt."

"No. You haven't."

"I know I haven't. We're friends. We help each other out. I know we've had our moments," Doral reached in a touched Kurt's cheek gently. "But that was once. Just once."

It was just once, because just once was all Kurt had needed. He'd toed the line since then, mostly kept a low profile. He'd done what Doral wanted and fallen into line. There was a lump in his throat when he swallowed. He'd _collaborated._

Doral's hand moved down Kurt's cheek and to his tie, and he fingered the fabric. "I know, Kurt, that you worry. I know that you have friends, that you're concerned about them. I know that you are especially concerned about Noah Puckerman, which I understand. Noah is truly a wasted asset, and he would prove to be very valuable on the New Caprica Police force."

Kurt sighed and began to undo his tie. "You know," he said sourly, handing it over, and unbuttoning his shirt, "one day soon I'm going to run out of clothes. What happens then?"

"You'll think of something to give me," Doral said. He helped Kurt slip off the shirt, then leaned in. "There are things that are valuable, but not nearly so tangible." Kurt's blood turned cold, and he looked at Doral, panicked. Doral smiled at him, a bland smile as he finished sliding the shirt off Kurt's shoulders. Kurt still had on his undershirt, but Doral's hands against him made him feel naked and exposed.

"Well," Kurt said, raising his chin, "I'm not out of clothing yet."

"No." Doral patted him on the shoulder and finally stepped away. "Not yet. Hurry up. We have a meeting in a few minutes. I'll see you there." As a small mercy, he left.

Kurt went over to retrieve the old shirt that he had learned to keep in the office for occasions like these. It was one of Finn's that had managed to make it into Kurt's tent, and Doral had absolutely no interest in it. Although, Kurt reflected as he pulled it on, if Doral knew that Kurt had any attachment to the garment, he'd probably start talking about a more casual wardrobe. He pulled Finn's shirt around him tightly just for a moment, and then raised his chin and gathered his things together. He lingered, because it felt good to be alone.

Alone. The word hit him hard, and he realized the truth he'd been refusing to think about for a while now. He was alone in a Cylon's office. All around him were schedules, memos, and lists that the Cylons had to use to communicate with their human subordinates. Things that had so much information that would never make it out of _Colonial One_… unless someone took them.

He supposed the thought had been in his head for a while, but he'd been scared. Because what would happen if the Cylons caught him stealing information? Death… or worse. But now, if we was going to face Doral rap- Kurt shuddered. He couldn't even _think_ the word. But if it came down to that, if that was his future, what was left to fear? What did he have to be afraid of?

Kurt fumbled with his papers. It was risky and he'd have to think about it, but now that the idea was firmly entrenched in his mind, it felt like a foregone conclusion. All he had to do was figure out how he was going to do it.

***

The dugout under the Tigh's tent where the bulk of the command operations were based was a lot bigger than the one under Burt's workshop. Burt wasn't in command so he wasn't there often, but he'd gotten pretty good at building bombs, and when bombs were needed, he was one of the ones called. He was finished the delicate work on the trigger, and then pushed it across the table to Anders.

"Looks good," Anders said, turning the bomb over in his hands.

Burt didn't know Anders as well as he knew Galen, but there was something about the man that made him easy to talk to. "Thanks. Never thought I'd be doing this."

"Yeah, well, I can sure say the same. I really thought I was done with this stuff." Anders grinned, but his eyes were dead.

"Any word about your wife?" Burt asked sympathetically.

"Nah." Anders was trying to play it off lightly, but it was obvious how much it affected him. Burt decided to change the subject.

"So what's the next plan of attack?" he asked. "Where's this baby going to go?"

Anders sighed. "Weapons raid. We've got to get our people some more firearms. What we've got just isn't enough." He glanced at Burt. "We're going to need a couple people to set off bombs on this one."

Burt nodded, understanding the implicit question. Anders hadn't given him any details, but it was pretty clear this was going to be a bigger operation than the small explosions he'd been setting off here and there. "Sounds like fun," he said. "Any chance I can play?"

"Galen said when we all line up on the playground, you're one of our top picks."

"Good." Burt tried not to think about the fact that that made him nervous. After all, some of the kids had been fighting battles since this war had started. If they could do it, he could do it. "When's this all going to happen?"

"We're still scoping out which bunker we want to hit. We only get one shot at this, so it's got to be right."

Burt nodded. As much as he appreciated the risks, he had to admit he was ready to start taking on something a little bigger. The risks were worth it, especially when he saw the way the occupation was draining the kids. Any time they were ready, he was too.

***

Kurt and Quinn walked through the streets together, Quinn rubbing at the dried blood on her hands. Kurt wasn't sure if it was someone else's or her own, given how dried and cracked her hands were. Neither thought was appealing.

"I could try to get you some lotion," Kurt offered.

"I can get lotion myself," Quinn snapped. "Or I would be able to. It's not available."

"I used to use duck fat on my hands. We could get some goose fat."

Quinn shook her head and didn't say anything.

They reached the edge of the city. There was no fence around it, but New Caprica was not so rife with game and edible fruits that a person could survive on their own. People didn't run because there was no place to run _to_. There was, however, the river. It wasn't that private, but it was private enough. Kurt and Quinn made their way down to the bank, and Quinn immediately sat down on the stones. She looked exhausted. "What did you want, Kurt?"

Despite the dirt, Kurt sat down beside her. "Have any Cylons… taken an interest in you?"

Quinn frowned. "What do you mean?"

He raised his chin. "I mean a sexual interest."

"No. Why do you ask?"

"I know things like that are going on."

"They are." Quinn was definitive about that. "I've had to treat a lot of- wait. You know? Kurt, has someone… have _you_-?"

"Not yet." He hugged his knees tighter. "But Doral's all but said it. I don't know. Does it count as rape if it's traded for something else? Or is that just prostitution?"

"Oh gods. Kurt."

"I think I like calling it prostitution better than rape," Kurt said, his voice still high and fast. "That sounds like I'm the one winning."

"What are you winning?"

"Puck. They keep threatening to pick up Puck. I've been holding them off, but it's coming."

Quinn didn't say anything for a long time. The silence was filled with the water gurgling against the banks and the wind rustling the leaves. A bird trilled in one of the trees. Kurt wasn't usually a huge fan of nature, but right now, it was soothing.

Quinn finally took a deep, shuddering breath. "Okay," she said, in her take-charge tone. "So are you going to do it?"

"If it comes to it. Yes."

"So why are you telling me? It's not just for comfort, is it?"

Kurt watched the way the sunlight played on ripples of water in the river. "No. If it's gotten this bad, how much worse could it get?"

"Ask Sam." Kurt glared at her and Quinn shrugged. "It can get worse, Kurt. You don't see the things I see."

"I see enough. And I've decided…" Kurt took a deep breath and cocked his head to the side. "I've decided I'm going to do this."

Quinn looked at him like he was crazy. "Do what?"

"Start helping. We're in good positions, Quinn. We can get information. We work with the Cylons, and we've done stuff like this before, with Artie and helping Roslin. If all this with Doral is going to happen, at least I could make a difference."

"We're not in the same position," Quinn said. "I'm not as desperate as you."

"But-"

"I'm also not in the kind of position you are. The Fours don't sit around drinking coffee and planning domination. They're doctors." Quinn softened, pulling her own knees up. "However, you are right about one thing. You can't do this by yourself."

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "That seems a bit contradictory. What do you mean?"

"You can get information, but you can't pass it. If you're caught, they'll ask you who you're giving it to."

"So?"

"Do you think you could not tell them? I've only seen a little of what they can do. I don't think you can. What you need is someone to help. Just one contact that you can give information to, that can pass it on to someone in the Resistance. It's not foolproof, but at least that only puts one person at risk, not the entire movement."

"You would do that?"

"I would do that."

Kurt opened his mouth to ask if she was sure, and then shut it again, partly because he valued his life and partly because, well, while Quinn had been concerned about her popularity in school, Quinn also had guts. If Kurt had been pregnant (well, been a girl and been pregnant), he would have gone for that abortion, not only so he didn't have to face anyone, but so he didn't have to go through childbirth. And then, too, Quinn was the one who'd helped Artie get the recorder way over a year ago. Quinn had a mind of her own, and the determination to use it.

"All right," he said, and the nervousness started blossoming in his stomach. They were really going to do this. Somehow it hadn't seemed so real in his mind when he'd thought of it, but now that it was out here between him and Quinn, it felt like there was no turning back. He took a deep, calming breath and then another. He glanced at Quinn. She was just as terrified and excited as he was.

"We'll be okay," Quinn lied.

"Sure."

Quinn laid her head against Kurt's shoulder. Kurt rested his temple against her hair. They sat together in silence until the sun began to go down.

***

Kurt woke up before his alarm, sitting straight up in bed. For the first time since the occupation began he wasn't dreading work, even though his stomach felt like he'd swallowed a thousand live butterflies. He shut off the alarm and looked over at Puck, who was still snoring, then got out of bed and began to get dressed. He had a mission.

A sharp, understated pair of black pants paired with a classic, quiet shirt. A nice, neat scarf, not one that would pull the eye to him. A trenchcoat-like blazer, belted around the waist and with clean lines and a collar that could be turned up. And to complete the look, one of his prize possessions- a fedora, tilted low over his face. Perfect.

Kurt looked back at Puck one more time, then headed out the door. The New Caprican sunshine was bright enough to warrant sunglasses, so he pulled a pair from his satchel and slipped them on. He slid through the people coming into _Colonial One_, doing his best to look completely nonchalant.

Doral looked at him long and hard when Kurt came in, but Kurt was sure that his gaze was focused on the clothing. He was right.

"That's the dullest thing I've ever seen you wear," Doral mused, turning back to his work. "Are you sick, Kurt?"

"No. Just felt like keeping my clothes today."

Doral snorted, and Kurt's breathing returned back to normal. He wondered how long it would be before Doral left the room.

Not long, it turned out. Doral didn't even bother to tell Kurt where he was going, but Kurt knew. There was a meeting of the Cylons- something that required consensus. Something that Kurt was expressly not invited to. Perfect. As soon as the door closed behind Doral, Kurt was out of his seat and looking through the papers on Doral's desk.

He didn't dare to steal actually steal anything, but he'd come prepared with a notebook. It was one of Quinn's, and most of it was filled with detailed medical notes and carefully drawn diagrams that Kurt really didn't care to study too closely. He flipped to a blank page and then began writing down anything he could find- locations, details, passcodes- _anything_ about the New Caprica Police weapons stores. The code was the best thing- of everything he had, that would be most useful. He finished writing with a flourish and returned to his desk, long before Doral ever returned to the office.

He tried to look normal the rest of day, although it was hard to keep the bounce out of his step and the smug expression off his face. He was safe, as long as no one found his notebook. No one did, and before he went home, he stopped at the med tent to return Quinn's notebook to her. No one even looked at them twice.

Kurt walked home with a much lighter heart. They'd done it. Now all he had to do was find some more.

***

"What's this?" Galen asked Burt, as Burt handed him a note in the safety of the dugout.

"Don't know," Burt said with a shrug. "Laura Roslin gave it to me."

Galen opened the folded sheet. "This is a passcode to that weapons bunker over by fields," he said. He pawed through some papers and came up with a sheet with the same numbers on it. "You said Roslin gave this to you?"

"Yeah. Does it help?

"Well, yeah, it turns out it does, but not the way you'd think. I got the passcode a week ago from an anonymous source, for the same bunker. I didn't know if it was a trap or if it was real. But is Roslin sure about this?"

"She seemed like it. You'd think she'd know, wouldn't you?" Burt had a lot of faith in Laura Roslin.

Tyrol nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, and it makes me think that my source can be trusted." He brightened. "Great. We're finally going to be able to do this."

***

The night was quiet out by the farms that were further from the settlement. The fields were demarcated with low stone walls, giving them a whimsical, old-world sort of feeling. There were trees out this far, and tall grass and shrubs. Farmers' tents were in rows along the sides of them, and here and there trash can fires could be seen burning, giving the Resistance a little bit of light. Which was useful, because right now Burt was staring at an outlying shack.

"You ready for this?" Tigh whispered.

Burt was hiding in the underbrush, flat on his stomach and trying not to think that he was too old for this. The fact that Saul Tigh had just army-crawled next to him and was peering through the darkness at the shack in front of them helped a lot. "I'm ready," Burt said.

"Good. You've got three minutes to get in there, plant the bomb, and get out, you got that? After that, we start shooting."

"Yeah. I know." Burt wasn't going to lie and say he wasn't nervous, but he was ready. "I'm ready whenever you are."

"You lot set?" Tigh glanced over at the two former Marines who were accompanying Burt, one of whom Burt knew as Nowart. They both nodded an affirmative. "Good." He turned back to Burt. "Give it to the count of twenty and then go. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." Tigh clapped him on the shoulder and crawled off. Burt began counting.

The shack was a small power relay, set up to power the outlying farms. It wasn't a very big or sturdy structure, but it was left unguarded precisely for that reason. It was an easy target, and not the real one. It was five hundred yards away from a bunker where the Cylons stored weapons that were used to keep order on the farms. The bunker sat out on the end of a field of potato plants, impossible to approach without cover. Two hundred yards beyond that was a bigger bunker where Centurions were housed.

Burt finished counting to twenty and gestured to the two Marines. He scooped up his sack and began to run, as quietly as he could. The distance between them and the relay station seemed enormous, and Burt was sure that at any moment he'd be riddled with bullets. It didn't happen. He made it to the substation, the two Marines right behind him, rifles at the ready. He opened the door and dashed in, breathing heavy.

There was no time for celebration. He put the sack down and pulled out the bomb. The plastic was smooth in his hand, and he hoped to all the gods that he'd made the damn thing right. He nestled it into the transformers, making sure that the remote was facing the direction he wanted to go.

"Come on, Hummel," Nowart said, brandishing his gun. "Let's move it."

"Got it." He checked one more time, made sure he had the detonator, and ran. They were just out of the shack and had gotten maybe ten yards when he heard a voice shout, "Hey! Stop!"

"Hit the ground!" Nowart ordered sharply, and Burt obeyed before he could even process the command. Nowart took his stance and fired, and when Burt looked up he saw a Two staggering back, holes in his chest.

Burt struggled to his feet and tried to get to running. He couldn't force himself to stand all the way up, but he staggered forward. He was vaguely aware that the count had to be getting close and he had to get away-

"NOW, HUMMEL!" Tigh shouted.

The remote was still in his hand. Burt fumbled with it and pressed the trigger. The resultant explosion was instantaneous, and a wave of heat and pressure threw him down to the ground, his arms over his head.

"Get up!" Nowart was yelling, tugging on his shoulder. "Come on! Get under cover!"

It was hard to hear because his ears were ringing. Burt shook his head and followed, stumbling to cover. He was distantly aware of the sounds of gunfire, and the fact that there was only Nowart with him now. It was dark, too- the power station had taken out the search light, as well as any other light source except for the fires and the flames that now consumed it, and New Caprica's moon wasn't all that bright. Nowart was shaking him.

"Hummel. Let's go. We've got to get to the rendezvous point." Burt pulled himself together and looked back at the burning wreckage of the power relay. The black shape of a corpse was on the ground. He shuddered, but got to his feet and followed Nowart.

The gunfire was louder to him now, although that wasn't as much because his hearing was returning as because they were running towards it. A squad was crouched behind one of the stone walls, firing at Centurions who were advancing from a low concrete bunker. Carole was among them. Burt watched with amazement as she propped her gun up on the wall and just _shot_, and he was almost positive she took out one of the Centurions that was advancing.

"Nice shot," he told her, flinging himself down next to her. Carole took a second to grin at him before returning to her work. On the other side of him, Shannon Beiste was doing her own share of damage. Nowart joined in the fight, too.

There was another explosion, a smaller one this time. Another squad doing their job, and this time, a big truck roared to life. The tires squealed as someone (Burt closed his eyes and told himself he _didn't_ know exactly who had hot-wired it and was driving like that) pulled it out. The truck careened wildly until it came to a stop near the weapons bunker. Galen hopped out of the passenger seat and frantically punched numbers into a keypad next to the door, and the door slid open. The Centurions, who had been occupied with the battle in front of them, were beginning to notice that something was going on behind, especially as humans jumped out of the truck and rushed inside the bunker.

"They need five minutes!" Shannon shouted over the gunfire. "Let's keep these frakkers off of them, people!" She handed Burt a gun. "Here, Hummel. Make yourself useful. It's loaded- just point and shoot."

Point and shoot. Burt picked the gun up and tried to get comfortable with it. He'd never actually shot a gun before in his life, except the video game ones when he was a kid and again when Finn had come into his life. He might not hit anything but he could make some trouble, so he ducked behind the wall, and peeked up in order to fire.

He'd heard about the recoil before and he'd thought he'd been prepared, but he wasn't, and the gun kicked back and barely missed his chin. Carole grabbed his shirt collar and yanked him down. "What the hell?"

"Shannon said-" Burt began, but Carole shook her head.

"My gun's out of ammo," she said, confiscating his. "You did your job! Just stay down until it's time to run!" Feeling a lot like a teenager again, Burt obeyed.

The seconds dragged on. He hadn't gotten a good look to see how many Centurions were out there, and he could hear some voices which meant that skin jobs were out there as well. But Shannon and Carole both seemed determined, not desperate and hopeless, and Tigh had said this area wasn't as heavily guarded. Burt took that to mean the odds were matched.

"All right!" Shannon shouted suddenly. "That's five minutes! Let's move it! Get to the truck- let's go, let's go, let's go!" She shoved Burt hard, but she didn't have to. He'd already been ready to run.

The run from the safety of the wall to the truck was worse than running to or from the relay station. Burt couldn't bear to look around- he just kept his eyes in front of him and ran. Lauren was standing in the back of the truck, and she reached down and gave him a hand inside. The others followed. Burt relaxed marginally when both Carole and Shannon made it on. The truck lurched forward, and Burt closed his eyes. When he opened them again they'd stopped, and Tigh's squad was hopping on.

"Where's Grayson?" Sam Anders asked from the front of the hold.

"We lost him," Tigh said. "Let's move!" Puck (Burt had _known_ it was Puck) floored it, and the truck bounced hard over the dips in the dirt.

"Watch it, Puckerman!" Shannon shouted forward. "There's explosives back here!"

"Oops. Sorry, Coach!"

Carole squeezed Burt's arm. "It's okay. We'll make it through this," she said.

Burt smiled. "What, Puck's driving?" She laughed.

The truck kept going, gaining speed. Burt wasn't sure if he should rest or stay ready, because the job wasn't over yet. In fact, Jean Barolay and Lauren were sorting through the weapons, figuring out who should carry what and where things were best stored.

They were in the southeast quadrant of the city when the truck stopped. As each person hopped out, Lauren and Jean handed off the bundles of weapons. Burt found himself carrying three guns and several boxes of ammunition. "All right," Tigh said, slinging a gun over his own shoulder. "Get to your drop points, and then back to your tents." The truck was abandoned, having served its purpose in allowing them to outrun the Cylons, and the group split up.

Burt, Carole, Puck, Lauren, and Shannon ran through New Caprica, darting between tents and away from the general traffic. "There," Burt said, pointing with his chin at the granary tent across from the med tent. They made it inside, and Burt found the trap door. "Come on," he ordered as he flung it open. "Get down."

"Who's going to cover it once we're down there?" Puck asked, already halfway down the ladder.

"Tyrol said it's covered," Burt said. He glanced at the med tent and saw a shadowy figure in scrubs watching. They all climbed into the tunnel and began working through the narrow passage.

It was _quiet_ down here. Burt didn't notice it at first because his ears were still messed up, his heart was still pounding and his breath was still coming heavy, but it was. The earth above their heads made it impossible to hear what was going on, and something _would_ be going on. The Cylons wouldn't let a strike like that go unpunished.

Not far away, Anders and Jean were hiding weapons under the Pyramid goals. Tigh and Galen were hiding theirs… Burt didn't even know where. It occurred to Burt that he had very little idea of a lot of the workings of the Resistance. Probably for the best, but he didn't really want to think about that.

To his mild surprise, Sue was waiting for them in the cellar under his workshop. Burt should have known. She surveyed the weapons that they brought in, and when Burt brought up the rear, her first words were "That's all?"

"Hey!" Puck said. "We got a lot!"

"If by 'a lot' you mean enough to arm the rent-a-cops at a high school Pyramid game, then yes, you got 'a lot'." Sue removed her attention from Puck. "How many casualties?"

"I don't know," Burt admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know that one of the former Marines- Crandall, I think his name was-" he noticed that Puck didn't really react to that- "he got shot. Otherwise-"

"We lost two others," Carole said crisply.

That was sobering, although not unexpected. Sue just nodded. "Good. That's less than I thought."

Sue, Shannon, and Carole all looked pleased at that number, Burt realized. And they were right. For an offensive that has as much to gain as this one did, three lives wasn't that high of a body count. Besides, there wasn't time to dwell. They had to get home, because the Cylons would be checking tents. They could be checking already. They climbed out into Burt's workshop and then split up from there.

The run through New Caprica was a nightmare, but it was better than that battlefield. At least Carole's hand was in his sometimes, warm and sweaty and _alive_. Both the Cylons and the New Caprica Police were out in force. "We probably should have stayed under the workshop," Carole whispered, as they hid behind a tent, waiting for a chance to dart across the street. "They can't search every tent tonight."

"Better not to press our luck," Burt said. Their chance came and they ran.

Stop and run, stop and run. Avoid the search lights and the Cylon patrols. It was going well, until one terrifying, horrible moment when they rounded a corner and came up against a member of the New Caprica Police.

The NCP members wore masks over their faces to protect their identities. They dressed in black, and it was impossible to tell much about them, especially in the shadows between the tents. All Burt could tell about this one was that it was a man about his own height. The man's eyes flared open wide when he saw them, and he froze. Burt put his own body between Carole and the NCP member, daring him to shoot them down.

"Anything there?" A voice called from the street. It was a Cylon, of course, a One from the sounds of it. The NCP recruits were still in training.

The recruit stared at them for one long last moment, and then to Burt's surprise, turned and fled, back to where the Cylon was. They couldn't hear the response, but they did hear the One demand, "What do you mean there's nothing there? I know I saw someone!" Another pause, and then, "Well, let's go." Stunned, Burt could only stand still, but Carole grabbed his hand and tugged him along. By some miracle, they made it to their tent.

"What the hell just happened?" Burt said as soon as they burst into the tent.

"Got me." Carole was shucking off her filthy clothes. There was a basin of water in their tent; Burt began washing his face. The water turned black as soot came off. "I still can't believe that there are people who would willingly join that NCP force."

"Yeah, well. Whoever that was, he lied for us."

Carole snorted. "Probably didn't have the guts to shoot us."

"Don't know that he had to. He could have just turned us in." Burt shook his head. "You're right, though. It's…" he sighed. "It's one thing to be like Kurt, where he's stuck. But to go over to the Cylons voluntarily, to _help_ them like that…."

"There's no justification for it," Carole said angrily.

Burt nodded his agreement. They finished getting ready for bed, and by the time they made it to the cot, they both were more presentable.

The Cylons came at 2:33 in the morning, checking to see if the occupants of this tent were in place. Burt and Carole answered all of their questions, and eventually, the Cylons left. They thought that was the end of it, and spent the rest of the night in a relieved sleep.

It wasn't until later the next day they heard that Colonel Tigh had been detained, accused of leading rebel activity.

***

Something had happened last night. Kurt didn't know what it was, but he knew that whatever it was, it involved the insurgency and the Cylons were furious. Rachel had spent the night last night since Lauren wanted Puck to stay, and the Cylons had come into the tent and asked them a lot of questions. Kurt had been so terrified he'd slip up that he mainly let Rachel do the talking. The Cylons had left, but it was clear that whatever was going on wasn't good. It wasn't until the morning that Kurt heard that there'd been a raid, and that the Cylons had picked up Saul Tigh, as well as a few other insurgents. He wasn't sure if that was good or if it was bad.

He was walking down the hall when Gaeta caught up with him. "Hummel. I need to talk to you." Gaeta looked bored and vaguely repulsed, the look he usually wore around Kurt. He grabbed Kurt's arm and pulled him into the empty kitchen.

"What are you-" Kurt cut off when Gaeta shut the door and then whirled on him with a fury that Kurt had only seen a few times before.

"What the frak do you think you're doing?" Gaeta demanded.

"What do you mean? I'm not doing anything!" Kurt protested.

Gaeta gestured up and down Kurt's body. "The black suit, the high collar, the hat tipped over the eyes, the scarf… the _sunglasses indoors_. How obvious are you trying to be?"

A cold fear gripped Kurt's stomach. "I'm not trying to attract anyone, if that's what you're accusing me of," he said as loftily as he could. "I assure you, my dalliance with-"

"The only thing you're missing is a cigarette in a holder," Gaeta said, ignoring Kurt. "Do you have any idea what you're playing with?"

"What exactly do you think I'm doing?"

"You're trying to spy on the Cylons!" Gaeta looked frustrated and whirled away for a moment, and then back at Kurt. "How can you… what… you are frakking _lucky_ that they probably wouldn't know a James Handy film if it bit them on the nose!"

"I'm not spying on the Cylons," Kurt lied nervously, fingering the scarf. He started to undo the knot.

"No. Not that," Gaeta ordered sharply. He stepped back and studied Kurt, frowning. "The hat and the sunglasses," he decided. "I don't want to see the sunglasses again. And undo the buttons." When Kurt didn't move, Gaeta stepped in and undid the buttons on Kurt's jacket himself. He frowned critically again, and then ordered, "Mess up your hair."

"What?"

"Mess it up. Make it look windblown."

"But I don't have the right tools or product to do it decently and-"

Gaeta fished through his pocket and pulled out a tube of gel and flung it at Kurt. "Do it!" he hissed through clenched teeth. He pushed Kurt over to a metal coffee machine. "Use that as a mirror!" With trembling fingers, Kurt obeyed. When he was done, Gaeta snatched the gel back and sighed.

"It should be all right," he said, looking over Kurt critically. "You change looks more often than Gaius changes sexual partners-" a sharp glare there, and Kurt winced- "so hopefully the Cylons will just assume this is you being eccentric rather than actually indicative of anything."

"Why do you care?" Kurt asked. "You'd be just as happy to see the Cylons drag me off."

"I don't care. But you have no idea how much you could mess up- how much trouble you could get in. How much you're putting at stake."

"What else should I do?" Kurt demanded. "Just sit here and keep doing what they tell me? Don't you get it? Things aren't going to change! The Cylons have made it clear how they think it should work, and I can't just help them anymore! What do you expect me to do? Just suck it up and do like you do?"

Gaeta just stared at him for a long moment, his mouth slightly open. "Three days," he finally snapped. "Either work this look for three days, or pawn it off on Doral _today_. Either one will keep the Cylons off your back. Otherwise, you're going to find yourself inside a detention cell, and that's if you're lucky." He pushed past Kurt and headed out into the hall, concealing his anger under his normal mask of professionalism.

Kurt looked down at his outfit. The changes Gaeta had made definitely took it out of the look Kurt had been going for, and a little part of his brain admitted that that might be a good thing. Kurt was _good_, and when he put together a look, it was meant to make a statement. Maybe he'd done a little too well this time. He tugged at the blazer, wishing he could button it back up properly. But then, it would probably be off his back by the end of the day.

With a sigh, Kurt got himself a cup of watery coffee and headed for his office. His confidence was shaken, but he still had work to do. When he got to the office and saw the report he was expected to type and the news that one of the weapons bunkers he'd given Quinn the pass code to had been broken into, and his heart soared. Apparently he'd been able to get something useful after all.

***

They had more weapons now, but Tigh had been taken. "What happens next?" Burt asked Galen when he stopped by the workshop.

Galen shrugged. "We keep going. The Colonel knew this would probably happen at some point."

Burt nodded. "You think he's dead?"

"Definitely not," Galen answered quickly. "They won't kill him. They've got questions they want answered."

"Suppose a jailbreak is out of the question," Burt said, but it was rhetorical. He knew the answer to that one- it wasn't even something they'd tried asking about when Sam was in that place.

"Just sit tight and stay safe," Galen said before he left, picking up a trigger that Burt had wired. "And I'll meet you in the granary tomorrow night." Galen nodded and headed out, nearly bumping into Brittany coming in.

"Hey Brit," Burt said, starting to sort out his tools for his next job. "Where've you been?" Brittany didn't answer right away which was extremely unlike her, so Burt peered closer at her face. To his shock, it looked like Brittany was crying. "What is it?" he asked, clenching in anticipation. "What's wrong?"

Brittany wiped at her eyes. "I went over to Johnson's to check on their cat. You know, over by the big fields?" Burt nodded. "And the cat is dead!"

"Oh." Burt tried not to show his relief. He knew Brittany got attached to animals, but he'd take a dead pet cat over one of the kids in detention or dead any day. "I'm sorry, Brit." He patted her shoulder awkwardly.

Brittany wiped her eyes. "He was getting better, too," she said. "I think he'd finally gotten rid of his worms. And then he died like that. Poor Buttons."

"Like that?"

"The insurgents did something over there, and there was a lot of gunfire. Buttons got caught in it. So did the Johnson's neighbor. I don't think he made it, either. But when I saw Buttons it was just…" she sat down at the table, tears streaking her face.

_So did the Johnson's neighbor. I don't think he made it, either._ A civilian. A civilian had died in their attack on the Cylons. Burt's head began to spin and he had to sit down. Had the man died in the explosion he'd set off? Probably not, if they'd found the body, right? Yeah. That made sense. Probably crossfire. He refused to think about the fact that Carole had been shooting a gun.

"Burt? Mr. H? Are you okay?" Brittany put a hand on his shoulder. "If it's any comfort, Buttons was a good cat- he'd go to cat heaven. It will be okay."

He pulled himself together. Brittany couldn't know about any of this. "Yeah. Cat heaven. I was always more of a dog person myself."

Brittany pulled away as if he was contaminated. "You never told me that."

"Sure I did." Burt tried to put heart into it. "If Katherine and Kurt would have allowed it, I would have gotten a big, hairy, slobbering dog. The kind that jumps up and is happy to see you when you come home."

"Kurt would never let something slobber on him. Except Blaine." Burt managed a real laugh at that, and Brittany smiled. Burt reached out and patted her hand.

"You doing okay, Brittany? I mean, really?"

Brittany shrugged. "I guess. I mean, I miss Santana a lot."

"Yeah. I get that one." He missed Finn a lot, too.

"Do you really think she's okay?"

"I think she's doing better than us right now," Burt said. He was about to add that Colonel Tigh said that the Fleet would be back, but stopped himself just in time. Brittany couldn't know a lot of that.

Brittany sat down across from him. "I wish I'd gotten to say goodbye. Do you think I'll ever see her again? Or Artie or Mercedes or Finn? Now, I mean. Not before we die."

"I don't know," Burt admitted. "But I've gotta believe it, or I'm going to lose hope. So you believe it too, okay? They're out there, and we'll see them again. They're coming for us."

Brittany smiled tearfully and squeezed his hand. Burt hoped desperately that he was telling the truth.

The worst job Kurt had by far was the actual announcements of the measures that had been taken by the Cylons. _Telling_ people that rations were cut or the curfew was earlier was terrible. It was making himself a voice of the Cylons and their medium between themselves and the people. Most times it was done through an article in the paper, a poster, or an announcement over the loudspeakers wired throughout the city. But not today.

It wasn't his job alone- Gaeta had to do these things even more often than Kurt. And Gaeta was with him today, when they trudged to the water treatment plant and the substation and the fields to deliver the new work schedules that the Cylons had set. The ploy was obvious, because there were Cylons supervising at all of these places who could have easily delivered the messages. But no, it had to come from humans, to give the appearance of cooperation. It hadn't gone well.

"You ought to go to the hospital and have that stitched," Gaeta said to Kurt as they walked back from the fields. A thrown bottle had hit a post right near Kurt's head, and one of the broken pieces had caught his forehead.

Kurt let the pressure up for a moment and checked the handkerchief. "It looks like the bleeding is stopping."

"Blood loss isn't the only reason to have a wound stitched. Let me see." To Kurt's surprise, Gaeta's hand closed around his wrist and he pulled Kurt's hand away.

"So you're a doctor now?"

"No, but every soldier has first aid training." Gaeta didn't _call_ him an idiot, but Kurt heard it in his voice. "You really should go get it stitched." Kurt didn't answer, and Gaeta didn't let go of his wrist. Their eyes met, and the concern he saw there shocked Kurt to the core. Once again, like the first time Kurt had met him, Gaeta's eyebrows and expression forcibly reminded him of Blaine. He pulled away.

"I've had worse," he said, deciding to play it off lightly. "Shoes. They've thrown shoes at us, and I'm not talking cute little ballet flats. Slushies, of course. Lots of Slushies. And a cat."

"A cat?"

Kurt nodded. "At a glee club performance at a nursing home. One of the residents threw a cat at me."

Gaeta laughed. It was a short bark of laughter, and Kurt realized that in the year and a half he'd known Gaeta, he'd only heard him laugh once or twice. Oddly enough, hearing it lifted his spirits a little in an anxious sort of way- sort of like hearing Finn laugh had used to do, way back in tenth grade. "They really threw a cat?" Gaeta asked.

"A real, live, fortunately declawed cat. I ducked, but it still hit me."

Gaeta was still chuckling, and they started walking again. Kurt pressed the handkerchief back to his forehead. "I've had people throw some interesting things at me," Gaeta said. "I was a drum major in high school."

"Really?"

Gaeta nodded. "It was part of my big plan to get into the military academy. When I was in high school, becoming an officer and serving on a battlestar was _everything_ to me."

"Why'd you leave the military, then, if you loved it so much?"

Gaeta didn't answer, but something was going on in his head because his face hardened. He stopped suddenly, almost forcing Kurt to stop with him.

"Look," he said, leaning in, his voice urgent, "I know something's been going on with Doral. I've seen him wearing your clothes." Kurt looked away, stepping back. "Whatever it is, the other Cylons know about it, too, and there's a One who's telling Doral to step it up with you."

Kurt's stomach turned to stone. "Step it up with me?"

"I couldn't hear more of what they were saying- they shut the door after that. But they are watching you."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Gaeta drew back. "I thought- never mind." The concern was gone, and the haughty, distant demeanor was back. "We're both collaborators, and there's no use pretending otherwise. So I suppose you know all about whatever Doral wants anyway." He was closing Kurt out completely again. "Go get your head checked. I've got work to do." He pulled himself straight and headed off, not quite storming, but definitely stiff.

Kurt sighed. His head really did hurt, and besides, he needed to see Quinn anyway. He had no idea why he was fighting it so much. With a strangely heavy heart, he turned and headed off.

***

The high school tent was still a safe place for them to meet as long as Will Schuester wasn't about. He was out tonight, tutoring a student, so Shannon and Sue had the tent to themselves. Carole and Burt brought dinner, and Puck and Lauren brought a bottle of something alcoholic. The six of them sat around one of the student tables, eating soup and bread.

"So there were two civilian casualties?" Burt asked.

"Yeah." Shannon stirred her soup. "Two's not too bad though, I guess."

"Yeah, I know." Burt made a face. "They just got caught in the middle. They didn't even have a chance."

"Neither do people the Cylons shoot," Sue said. She poured some hot sauce into her soup. "And they've been shooting an awful lot of people."

"Or detaining them," Puck said around a mouthful. "Like Sam."

"You get used to it," Lauren said.

"Huh?" Burt turned to face her.

"You get used to it," Lauren repeated. She pushed her glasses up her nose. "If you don't, you end up like Blaine." She shrugged dismissively.

"Blaine died from radiation poisoning," Burt said. "That's got nothing to do with anything."

"Yeah, but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about how Blaine used to freeze up in the middle of everything," Lauren explained. She popped a piece of bread into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "At the beginning, when we used to go out on raids, he'd be dead weight. Couldn't do a thing."

"Hope you didn't say that to Kurt."

Lauren just shrugged again, and Burt took that as a no. "That's what it was. And if you let yourself care too much about what happens, it will happen to you, too."

That hard look in Lauren's eyes had been steadily going away over the past year, but it had come back when the Cylons did. Burt thought maybe he should have noticed that before now. He glanced over at Puck. Puck looked uncharacteristically serious, which must mean he saw it, too.

Sue pulled a piece of bread from the basket and tore it to bits. "She's got a point," she said to Burt. "Tough as it might be for your math-challenged noggin to process, you've gotta accept that a few deaths here mean fewer deaths later. But she's wrong about who you end up like. You keep counting too close, you end up caring too much, and that's when you end up like Blaine or like William Schuester. And you definitely don't have the hair to pull off his look."

Collaborators or insurgency. It alarmed Burt that, the longer the occupation went on, the less ground there seemed to be between them. It was one or the other, black or white. He scrubbed his face with his hands. The bottom line was that this was what they needed to do if they were ever going to get out from the Cylons' thumbs, and whatever the cost, he had to work towards that goal.

"You okay?" Carole asked him when they walked home that night.

"I guess. You?"

She shrugged. "I just keep telling myself let's get through this. Let's get away, let's get _them_ gone, and then we can worry about the consequences for ourselves later."

"It's gonna come back and bite us hard," Burt predicted.

Carole nodded agreement. "If we live through it, that is."

Burt snorted. "Guess that's a point right there. Worry about it if we live through it." It wasn't much of a comfort, but Carole's smile was. Burt focused on that, and they walked home together.

***

The sun was just setting when Kurt made it home, tired and sore and cranky. Quinn had told him that her contacts in the Resistance said that they needed to know what signals the Cylons were using to jam the airwaves- or what frequencies- or what- Kurt didn't know. It wasn't his thing. "We need Artie," he'd told Quinn.

"Well, Artie's not here. We need to figure it out." They'd tried to work out together precisely what Kurt was looking for, but in the end, they were still just confused.

Not that the day was a complete waste. Kurt had managed to get word to Quinn that the Cylons were talking about cutting meat rations. It was a small thing, really, but at least people could be warned and stock up. He'd also been faced with a list of people that were going to be questioned about the insurgents' latest activities. He didn't recognize most of the names on there, but as usual, Puck's name had been there. He'd given up his vest to get it off. The fact that Doral had been satisfied with just the vest had left Kurt limp with relief.

He was thinking about that vest when he opened the flap and walked in, but all thoughts fled when Puck stood up, arms crossed. "We need to talk." From the look on his face, Kurt knew this wasn't going to be good.

"Fine," he sighed, taking off his jacket. "What is it?"

Puck took a deep breath. "I've been thinking about this a lot, and I think it's better if you move out. You can move in with Rachel, and Lauren's going to move in with me."

"Excuse me? If _I_ move out? You do remember who was in this tent first, right?"

"Yeah." That threw Puck for a minute. "Whatever. Look, the point is, we shouldn't be living together anymore. I can't take this."

"_You_ can't take this. You're not the one working up there," Kurt said sharply. "What I do does not affect you." The lie was bitter on his tongue.

"You're stupid if you believe that. It affects the whole frakking place."

"I have told you time and time again, that if I quit my job, the Cylons will shoot me or send me to detention. Is that what you want? For me to die rather than work with them?"

"Well, yeah!" Puck turned on him. "Sam ended up in detention. He didn't collaborate, and same with Rya. And Rachel's not collaborating. Or Carole or your dad or Lauren. What makes you so special?"

"What have they done that's so different?" Kurt shot back. "No one's quit their job. Rachel still works in supply. You got put on the construction crews and you work there, and so does Dad and so does Lauren. Carole's still in her job. And you're all taking orders from Cylons."

"Like hell we are! None of us are carrying out the Cylons orders to hurt people. If the frakking toasters weren't here, we'd still need people to build and to do…whatever the frak it is Carole does. We would not need little shits to sit up in the office and relay orders about ration cuts and curfews like you do!" Puck's voice rose to a shout. "They took me off security and put me on the crews, but if they had told me that I had to be on that frakking NCP force, I'd let them shoot me!"

"Yeah, well, they haven't, have they?" Kurt yelled back. Puck had no idea- absolutely _no_ idea. Kurt wanted to yell that at him, and it physically hurt to keep the words back. "And are you one of these insurgents?"

"Like I'd tell you," Puck sneered. "Frakking collaborator."

"Fine," Kurt said, his patience snapping. "You want me out of here? I'll go." He rooted under his bed and came up with his bag. It was dusty and dirty, but he tossed it onto his bed anyway. He dumped in the items from his desk. Then he stalked over and tore the curtain away from the corner he'd partitioned off as a closet. One silver lining about Doral taking his clothes- it wouldn't take long to pack. Despite his anger, he was incapable of treating the few garments he had left with any sort of disrespect and began to fold them.

"Wait." Puck came over. "What the hell?"

"What?" Kurt folded his only blazer he had left, annoyed that he couldn't do the job in silence.

Puck was right against Kurt's shoulder. "You had more shit than this." Kurt shrugged. "No. Seriously. You did. I know you did. What happened to all your clothes?"

"What does it matter?"

"All those times you came home without something…" Puck was slowly putting the pieces together, and Kurt wasn't sure if he should let him. "It wasn't just you leaving things. That Five you work for who wears your clothes sometimes. He's got them."

"All part of collaborating," Kurt said, laying the blazer reverently in the bag. He picked up a tie. "Along with the hair, the nails, the skin advice…"

"Yeah, but for what? These are your _clothes._ Don't think I don't know how you feel about them."

"You think it's stupid," Kurt said.

"Yeah, I think it's stupid," Puck agreed, stepping closer. "That doesn't mean I don't know what _you_ think. You've been giving up your clothes for something. What is it?" Kurt looked away. "Dude. Have you been doing this the whole time?" Kurt nodded. To his horror, tears started pricking at his eyes. "What for?" When Kurt didn't answer, Puck grabbed him by the upper arms. "Kurt. _What for_?"

"I can't tell you."

"It can't be anything big. You couldn't even get Sam out of detention. Was it your dad? It had something to with your dad or Carole, right?" Kurt shook his head, and regretted it a second later as horror dawned in Puck's eyes. "It's me. Frak. It's me, isn't it? That's why I've never been picked up. That's why they never told me to join the NCP. Because all this time _you_ were…" Puck looked back at the small collection of clothing hanging in the corner of the tent, looked back at Kurt, and then pulled him into a sudden, bone-crushing hug.

"You idiot," Kurt heard Puck saying. "You frakking, godsdamned, FRAKKING idiot." His arms tightened even more, and for a long moment Kurt just wanted to stay there. But he couldn't. He pushed away, and eventually, Puck let him go.

"You know I'm going to kill you," Puck said conversationally. "You shouldn't be protecting me."

"It was just clothes," Kurt said with a shrug. No reason to let Puck know that it might not stay that way.

Puck shoved his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, well." He looked uncomfortable as he stared at Kurt. "I'm sorry. I should have known."

"That was the idea. You weren't supposed to know."

"Yeah, because I would have killed you. You give them anything else?" Kurt shook his head, and Puck let out a little sigh of relief. "Good. Well, don't, okay? You don't give them anything else. Let them pick me up if you have to."

"I'm not going to do that," Kurt said.

"Listen." Puck held him out by the shoulders. "If they pick me up, it's going to be okay, all right? I haven't done anything that they can shoot me for. Not that that's stopped them, but they let Sam go."

"No." Kurt pushed Puck away and said it firmly, but calmly. "I'll keep you out of detention. You and anyone else from New Directions that I find out they're going to take. I know you see what I do as collaborating, and maybe it is. But I stayed there because I could help. Maybe I couldn't help a lot of people, but I could help a few. I _do_ help a few."

"Shit." Puck turned away. "_Shit._" He turned back, and the pathetic look on his face almost broke Kurt's heart. "I'm sorry, man." Kurt couldn't quite answer, and Puck looked wrecked. "We cool?"

"We're cool." Kurt looked at the bag on his bed. "Guess this means I don't have to move out?"

Puck laughed. "Yeah. Definitely not." He relaxed, sitting down on his bed. "I guess I owe you dinner, huh?"

"I'm not going to say no." The tension was easing in his chest, making him feel comfortable at home for the first time in ages. He began to unpack. Puck started talking again, telling Kurt about how he and Lauren had babysat for Blaine, and how Sam wouldn't move out of the tent he and Rya had shared, no matter how many times anyone asked him. It was the kind of gossip Puck hadn't shared with Kurt in months.

Kurt let him talk, half listening and making the appropriate responses. He finished unpacking and then settled down on his bed. The space between their beds seemed smaller tonight, and the tent warmer. Kurt hadn't wanted Puck to know about what was going on, but as all the tension eased, he couldn't help admitting that he was really glad he'd told.

***

As good as it was to have Puck have some idea of what was going on, Kurt still didn't tell him everything. In fact, Kurt still avoided telling him as much as he could, and Puck didn't ask. So Puck had no idea that Kurt was handing information over to Quinn tonight, down by the river.

"I still couldn't find anything that made sense about jamming frequencies," Kurt told her, the notebook open in front of them as they sat on a blanket on the rocky shore. "But I did get this." He shined a flashlight on the pages as he handed them to her.

Quinn took it, and her eyes opened. "A roster of people who are NCP?"

"It's not the complete roster, but yes. Those are names I overheard a Three and a One discussing." Kurt pointed to some of the names. "I don't know much about some of these people, but I do know a bit about these two. He was the aide to the Leonis representative and this guy was in the press corps. Both of them have families, and I think that's why they joined up. They might not be willing to betray the Cylons, but they might be able to give the Resistance a heads up if they have any information."

"Or they might turn Resistance members in," Quinn said. "Especially under torture." Both of them shuddered.

"Quinn?" Kurt asked, as she studied the other information he'd given her. "Does anyone know about this? Anyone in the Resistance, I mean?"

"No. I haven't told anyone your name. And while I assume you're not about to ask, it's probably better if I don't tell you anyone's name, either."

"I wasn't going to ask." Kurt looked at his watch and yelped. "We need to get back. There's five minutes to curfew."

"Shit. We got careless." Quinn tore the relevant pages out of her notebook, folded them, and slipped them into her pocket. She hesitated, then pulled them out of her pocket and slipped them into her bra. Kurt managed a wry smile at that as he grabbed the blanket, and they began running back towards the town.

"We're not going to make it," Quinn said. They still weren't to the edge of town, and curfew was probably being announced over the loudspeakers right now. "Shit."

"Should we run? Or should we slow down and look like we know what we're doing?"

"You're in the administration and I'm in the med tent. Let's slow down," Quinn said.

"Right."

It was impossible to look casual as they walked through the streets. Kurt kept his head up and tried to look like he belonged there, but he was grateful that Quinn was at his side. There was no way they were going to make it, absolutely no way-

"Quinn?"

Both of them turned around slowly. A Two was standing in the street. Although it was usually hard to tell the Cylons apart, this one stood out. He had a goatee, and when he took a few steps towards them, Kurt noticed he had a limp.

"What are you doing out?" the Two asked.

"We got caught out," Quinn said in her best innocent, good girl voice, the one that charmed teachers back in Lima. "We were in the middle of something, and…." She trailed off and shrugged.

"What were you in the middle of?" the Two asked. Quinn grabbed the blanket from Kurt and blushed. It took Kurt a minute, and then he realized what Quinn was implying. He didn't even have to fake blushing.

"We both have roommates," Quinn said.

"I see." The Two looked back and forth between the two of them, chuckling bemusedly. "You don't have to be so embarrassed. I often forget that humans treat sexual intercourse as something to be ashamed of. But you do realize it's after curfew, right?" They both nodded. The Two smiled indulgently at them. "Well. Why don't I walk you both home, so you don't get in trouble?"

Quinn accepted immediately, but Kurt just stared for a long moment. Of all the outcomes he could have imagined, this was the last one he'd expected.

"It's all right," Quinn said softly as they began walking. "I know him."

The Two overheard her. "Quinn helped me with a wound," he explained, indicating his leg. "She's helped me with the therapy exercises to regain mobility, and she saved this body. It has been an interesting experience, healing, and one that God surely intended for us to have. It truly is a miracle to see how the body is capable of repairing itself."

"Right." Kurt had no idea what to say. The Twos were not a model line he had to deal with often. But Quinn seemed okay with this. They walked through the town, passing patrols of Centurions and of NCP, and the patrols left them alone. Kurt was content to stay silent, but the Two carried on a conversation with Quinn in low voices. Something about religion. Kurt was relieved when they reached his tent.

"There you are," the Two said pleasantly. "Safe and sound."

"Thank you." Kurt looked at Quinn. _Will you be okay?_ he asked her silently.

Quinn leaned in and kissed him, full on the lips, and Kurt belatedly remembered what they'd supposedly been doing to be out this late. "I'll be fine," she whispered as she pulled back.

He wasn't sure he believed her, but he nodded anyway. Quinn smiled, and then turned back to the Two. Kurt looked around her at him. "Thank you."

The Two smiled. If he wasn't a Cylon, Kurt would actually think he looked friendly. "You're welcome. Quinn? We should get you home." He nodded. "Have a good night."

As Kurt watched them go, it occurred to him that the Two had never even asked his name. Either he knew it, or he had no intention of reporting them. It still made Kurt uneasy, but the sound of another patrol nearby made him duck inside the safety of his tent. He was lucky enough- no sense in pushing his luck any further.

***

Friday night dinners were nothing like they used to be, but when they happened, Burt clung to them even more than he used to. Friday night dinners served one huge purpose- to confirm that Kurt was still alive. People kept disappearing and kept dying, and Burt was only too aware that Kurt could be among them any day.

It was well before curfew, and Burt and Kurt walked together through the settlement, watching for patrols out of the corners of their eyes, even though they were doing nothing wrong. "Cold night," Burt said lamely.

"It is. Winter's settling in again."

"Doesn't seem like we get much else."

"I know."

The conversation was trite and awkward, but Burt wasn't sure what else to say. They couldn't talk about their jobs, at least, not freely. He couldn't tell Kurt about the Resistance, and Kurt… some part of Burt didn't _want_ to hear what Kurt had to do at work. He didn't regret telling Kurt to collaborate, but he could see from the drawn, strained look on Kurt's face that it was costing something. It was costing them both something. They couldn't talk about their family, the community, the occupation… there was nothing that it was easy to talk about in the open. So they walked together in silence. But silence was better than the alternative, so Burt was thankful for that.

As they walked, Kurt slipped his cold hand into Burt's, holding his hand as he had done when he was a child. Kurt smiled at him. Burt could see that Kurt felt that restriction, the distance between them imposed by the Cylons, and this touch was his act of defiance. Burt squeezed Kurt's hand in silent acknowledgement and thanks, and together, they walked hand in hand through New Caprica, facing the Cylons together.

***

The door closed behind Doral, and Kurt stood up immediately. There was a whole new stack of papers just begging to be searched through. He walked over to the desk as quietly as he could and began sifting through them.

There were a lot of ration inventory lists. Kurt frowned to see them- they meant a lot more typing and math checking later. Of course, checking math with Cylons around was about as pointless as trying to introduce Finn to designer clothing, but it was less objectionable than other jobs. He noticed that Rachel's signature was on several of those pages. He touched it lightly and then moved on. There were several pages that he couldn't make heads or tails of, things that had to do with technology and plans, but he just didn't understand them. A written copy of new guidelines for toilet usage that he'd have to translate from Doral's chicken scratch later. Something about radio frequencies-

Radio frequencies.

Kurt frowned, pushing the other papers aside, and pulled the document towards him. It didn't make a whole lot of sense, but some of the words here were words Quinn kept saying. Jamming. Channels. This couldn't be it, could it? Why would the Cylons put something like that into memos? There was no way this could really be it. He noticed a paragraph about wireless stations, and that made a little more sense, if the Cylons were trying to restrict humans broadcasting their own news throughout the settlement. He picked the document up and read it, frowning. Really, with as little as he understood, the best thing to do would be to make a photocopy and tape it in to Quinn's notebook so that-

The bang of the door being flung open startled him, and worse still, Doral stood there, anger all over his face.

"What's that?" he demanded.

"This?" Kurt said, trying to sound calm. "I… I wanted to get a head start on the work that you'd want me to do and so I-"

"You searched through my papers." Doral strolled over and plucked the paper out of Kurt's hand. "And this was hardly on the top. Very interesting. I had no idea you were so interested in wireless stations."

"I-"

Kurt cut off as Doral turned his head very, very slowly, glaring at him. Kurt had never, ever lost sight of what Doral was, but he'd never looked more like a machine than he did in that moment. "You were going to hand this over to the insurgents, weren't you?"

The blood drained from Kurt's face, confirming everything before he could say a word. Doral's eyes narrowed. "You were. You little frak."

"I didn't- I-"

Doral struck him and the side of Kurt's face exploded in pain. He caught himself against the desk before he fell to the ground, but before he could orient himself, Doral grabbed him by the hair. Kurt shrieked as Doral twisted the handful, and he found himself turning around and being pulled to standing.

"You little frak," Doral repeated. "After everything I've done for you, everything I've let you get away with…. Come on." He released Kurt's hair and grabbed his wrist, and pulled him along so hard that Kurt had to come or have his arm dislocated.

They burst into the President's office, Doral's hand closed tightly around Kurt's wrist so that the bones ground together painfully. They'd obviously interrupted a meeting. There were several Cylons as well as Baltar and Gaeta in the room. One of the Ones looked up and sighed with impatience. "What the hell is going on?"

"I found it," Doral said proudly. "I found the leak. It's Hummel here." He pushed Kurt forward. Kurt staggered, catching himself. He couldn't breathe right- every breath was a gulping sob that wasn't quite tears but was extremely close. "He's been sneaking information to the insurgents. I caught him in my office."

The Three in the room looked mildly impressed, but the One just looked relieved. "About time. Well? What are you waiting for?" He handed Doral a gun from his jacket.

Kurt's stomach tightened so sharply with fear that he was afraid he'd throw up. "No," he begged. "No. Please." He was trying not to cry and wondering if it would hurt and _oh gods he didn't want to die_.

"I don't like this," Caprica said firmly. "This isn't what God intended. This isn't what _we_ intended."

"You're right," the One said, smirking at her. "This isn't what _we_ intended. We need to bring peace, and nothing will be accomplished in here." He turned back to Doral. "Drag him into the streets by his hair and shoot him in the back of the head. Show them what we do to insurgents."

"NO!" The protest didn't come from Kurt- it came from Gaeta. Gaeta, of all people, who leaned forward, his face pale. Every eye in the room turned to him, and Kurt's heart lurched up painfully in his chest. They didn't like each other, but right now, when it all came down to it, Gaeta was going to help him. The Cylons would listen to Gaeta. "He's a kid," Gaeta said.

The One shrugged. "So? What's that got to do with anything?"

"He's a kid," Gaeta repeated, turning to an Eight. She looked amused. "He's a kid, which means… he'll break easily. You've- _we've_- got to know what he's told them, right? Unless you caught who he was leaking information to? Well, he's a kid, not a hardened military operative. It shouldn't be that hard to get the information out of him." Kurt's mouth fell open, and he stared at Gaeta in shock.

"Or we could just assume that since he was stupid enough to steal it from Doral's office he didn't get anything all that valuable," the One said. "I think-"

"Gaeta's right," the Eight overrode him. "We need to know what he knows and what he told. Send him to detention."

"What? No!" Kurt turned back to Gaeta. Gaeta looked away, swallowing hard. "You're a coward," Kurt said, his voice rough with tears. "Why didn't you just stay quiet? Why didn't you-" _Why didn't you just let me die?_ Because death would be easier than detention- Kurt was sure of that.

Gaeta didn't answer. The Eight stepped up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. A comforting, caressing hand, and suddenly Kurt understood. He stared at that possessive hand on Gaeta's shoulder, and slumped in defeat. "Take him to detention," the Eight repeated. "It really is for the best."

The One looked annoyed.. "_Fine._" He leaned over and looked out the door. "Can we get someone in here, please? Before my patience runs out?"

The silence that descended into the office felt heavy and long to Kurt. Baltar remained silent, frozen at his desk and acting as if none of this was happening. Gaeta was staring at the Eight and wouldn't meet Kurt's eyes. And Doral… Kurt couldn't look at Doral, because he was sure if he did he was going to be sick. Finally, an NCP officer appeared.

"Get him out of here," the One said, waving his hand at Kurt. Doral didn't let him go- instead, he pulled him towards the NCP officer and yanked Kurt's arms so his hands were in front of him. The officer wrapped the flex cuffs around Kurt's wrists, tightening them enough to cut into the skin. "Let's go," the officer said. Kurt couldn't help looking back once at Gaeta. Gaeta had retreated to his desk, his attention focused entirely on the pad of paper in front of him as Kurt was pulled out.

There was a truck right outside _Colonial One._ Kurt saw a bright flash of sunlight and felt a burst of cold air and then he was forced onto the back of the truck. He sat down on one of the benches, his legs shaking, but he managed to get the gulping sobs under control, even though he was terrified.

Doral slid into the back of the truck and sat beside him. He seemed to have reined in his temper. "Well," he said, as the truck lurched to life and jerked forward. "This is a little unexpected, I have to say." Kurt shrunk away from him, pulling his limbs in to huddle up as best as he could. "I thought we were friends. You have no idea how disappointed I am."

_I never liked you_, Kurt started to say, but stopped himself just in time. He didn't think Cavil would cry too hard if Doral shot him here in the truck. Besides, he was pretty sure his voice wouldn't come out right.

It didn't take that long to get to the detention center. The truck lurched to a stop, and Doral jumped out and extended his hand mockingly. "Kurt?" Kurt ignored his hand and jumped down by himself. However, with his hands tied, he overbalanced on the landing and fell to his knees. Doral grabbed him by the shirt collar and yanked him back up. "Let's go." Doral shoved him in the door.

Kurt blinked rapidly, trying to adjust his eyes to the dim light. As a result, the first thing he noticed wasn't anything visual, but the guttural scream of pain down the hall. He knew what it was. He _knew_. Torture. Doral grabbed his arm and walked him down the hall, then pushed him into a small processing room.

"Strip."

Kurt's eyes flared open, because there was one obvious line of thought from that command. "What? No- no. Please, no. Please don't-" he broke off as Doral held up a gray jumpsuit. Oh. He bit his lip.

"Strip and get this on," Doral ordered. Kurt's fingers were shaking so hard he could barely undo his buttons, but Doral just stood against a desk, watching him. Kurt pulled off his tie, his jacket, his shirt… he folded them each neatly, his hands lingering on the fabric. He could feel Doral's eyes on him, but he couldn't look at his face. "All of it, Kurt."

He slid off his pants, his underwear, and eventually his socks. The gray jumpsuit was shoved into his hands. "Put it on," Doral ordered one more time, his impatience showing in bared teeth and flashing eyes. The temper was rearing again. Kurt tried to hurry, but he was so terrified that he fumbled the simplest of motions. Impatient, Doral struck him across the face, hard enough to send Kurt crashing into a wall. "I said NOW!"

Somehow, he got the jumpsuit on. The sleeves and legs were too long and the material was scratchy and Kurt didn't even want to know how terrible he looked, but Doral subsided and grabbed Kurt by the arm again, pulling him along.

The hall was dark. They passed two members of the NCP as Doral dragged Kurt down the hall, but both of them turned away before Kurt could see their faces. Doral stopped suddenly, opened a door, then thrust Kurt into a brightly lit cell. The force of his thrust sent Kurt stumbling, and by the time he recovered, the door had slammed shut, leaving him alone.

_Alone._ It could be worse. Kurt tried to calm his breathing, look around, and take in his surroundings. Figure out a way out of here. Figure out _something_ before the Cylons came back for him. The cell was larger than he would have thought, maybe eight feet by ten feet. The walls and floor were bare concrete, and the door was heavy and made of metal. There was a small window in the door at face level, covered over with a tightly woven wire screen. The only object in the room was a metal bucket. Kurt steadfastly refused to think about that right now. A bare fluorescent bulb was on the ceiling, and the light hurt his eyes.

He had no idea how long he stood there, but nothing changed. No one came for him. There were no shadows growing longer or light waning, or signs of traffic in the halls. Nothing. Eventually he sank down to sit on the floor with his back to the wall, hugging his knees tightly. He had never been so scared in his life.

***

"You got any of that paint thinner you call alcohol?" Sue said, flipping open the tent flap and coming into Burt and Carole's tent without permission or preamble.

"Sue." Carole frowned. "It's almost curfew."

"I know. And I'm staying here for the night. Get out the alcohol, Sheepdog," she said, gesturing in the vague direction of Carole's hair. "Come on. Get the lead out. We need to get Mr. I-Dress-Like-A-Frat-Boy's-Sofa drunk."

"Why?" Burt said suspiciously.

"Because you'd be best off passed out, snoring in oblivion for the night," Sue said. "I don't expect your neighbors within a ten tent radius to thank me, but at least if they kill you, they'll do it quick."

"What the frak is going on, Sue?" Burt demanded.

He hadn't really been that scared before, but now Sue dropped the act and sat down at the table. "Sit," she said, gesturing for Burt to take the chair opposite her. She picked up the bottle and the glass and poured a double shot of the strong, coarse alcohol, and then pushed it across the table. "Drink."

"What are you-"

"DRINK!" Sue roared at him. She got herself under control. "Drink, or I'm not telling you anything."

Burt took the glass and drank. He didn't know exactly why he did it- he wasn't one to do something just because _Sue Sylvester_ told him to do it- but on some level, he must have known that whatever she was going to tell him was horrible. When he finished, Sue refilled the glass, and Burt drank it without comment. It had been a while since he'd eaten, and it wasn't long before he got the detached feeling of drunkenness. He put the glass down with a decisive clink. "Now tell me what the hell is going on."

Sue glanced at Carole and then leaned in. "I've got a couple sources over near _Colonial One._ Don't ask who, just trust me that they're reliable enough when it comes to something like this. One of them saw Pearhips cuffed and being put on a truck earlier today."

Carole's hand flew to her mouth, but Burt couldn't quite make himself hear her words. Sue was watching him with an expression that approached sympathy. Slowly, her words filtered through his head and began to make sense.

"It's Porcelain, Hummel. The toasters have him."

The ball of uncertainty that had been in his gut unfurled, threatening to break his chest until it exploded into a scream.

***

The lights never went off. It had to be night, and Kurt was tired, but the lights stayed on, bright and intrusive. And worse, Kurt had to pee. He stared at the bucket angrily until his eyes watered. The toilet paper situation on New Caprica had gotten bad enough, but Kurt had managed. Perks of a government job. And there had at least been toilets. They had been disgusting, but they weren't in his space. This was completely different. But eventually his bladder threatened to explode, and he used the thing, and then huddled back up in a corner. Over the night, the stink of urine grew stronger. He didn't even think about what would happen when he had to do worse.

No Cylons came for him. That was good, at least, for now.

Kurt forced himself to think it through. No one came for him because Doral knew him. Doral knew that Kurt would hate it in this cell, despise the lack of facilities, the gray jumpsuit, sleeping on the floor, and the cold. And he was right about that. But Doral probably thought that it would break him, that Kurt would be begging to return to the relative luxury of his tent and as a result, would tell them everything.

What Doral didn't realize was that, despite his fear, Kurt was a lot stronger than that. He _was_. Yes, he wanted to return to his tent and a bed and toilets and everything else. He wanted it badly, but telling anything would result in people dying. Not just people- _Quinn._ Kurt knew that. So he'd keep his mouth shut, no matter what they threw at him.

With his resolve in place, he lay down on the floor and tried to get as comfortable as possible. Despite the cold, the hunger in his gut, and the smell, he eventually drifted off to sleep.

***

"Why? Why would they take Kurt?"

Carole and Sue exchanged glances. It was the first coherent thing Burt had said since Sue had given him the news hours ago. Burt's head was throbbing, and there were bruises on his arms from where Carole and Sue had had to physically restrain him from storming down to the detention center. But they both said nothing.

"We'll bomb the place," Burt decided. "We'll bomb the hell out of the frakking gate, and when we get inside-"

"You'll never get inside. You'll be shot before you get past the smoking ruins," Sue said.

"Not if we pull Galen and Sam in on it."

"Burt. Honey." Carole cradled his hand in hers. "Colonel Tigh's been in there for a couple of weeks. Sam's wife is probably in there. There's a reason they haven't tried taking on the detention center. It can't be done."

"So I'm just supposed to sit here?"

"I didn't say that." Carole's face hardened. "I said that we can't take on the detention center. That doesn't mean that we can't make life hell for some toasters."

Sue looked at Carole, a trace of admiration on her face. But when she faced Burt, she was all business. "Let me break it down for you, Burt. There's not much we can do for Porcelain right now. There really isn't. You can go to some of Baltar's cronies and beg, but if they put him in detention, he did something to really piss them off. And right now, we've got some other kids to think about."

Burt looked up dully. "What do you mean?"

Carole caught on quicker. "Oh gods. Puck. And Lauren."

"Does Kurt know about Puck and Lauren being in the Resistance?" Burt asked.

Sue snorted derisively. "Oh, please. _Rocks_ know about Puckerman being in the Resistance. He's about as bright as the protozoan life forms in the New Caprican river."

"No," Carole said with a frown, "he's smarter than that. They should have picked up on Puck by now, but they haven't for some reason. Probably because he's never been very high level, and they've figured out who _is_ the highest level of the insurgents."

"Like Saul Tigh will tell them anything."

"No, he won't," Carole agreed, talking to Sue over Burt's head. "But there are a lot of layers between someone like Puck and someone like Tigh. But wait- Kurt isn't in the Resistance, is he?"

"No." Burt looked up. "No way. I'd know."

Carole and Sue exchanged glances again, and Burt could almost hear them saying that no, he wouldn't know if Kurt didn't tell him. "I haven't heard anything though," Carole said.

"Me, neither," Sue said. "So what do we do about Puckerman?"

Carole sat down, thinking. "If we move him, it will look worse for Kurt. But if we leave him where he is, there's a chance they could pick him up."

Sue nodded sharply. "I'd say put him on the alert. Maybe move some of his stuff down into that hideout below that tinkering shop you call a business. If we move Puck, it puts Lauren at risk, too, and if we move Lauren, then Rachel's at risk, and at that point, the toasters will start assuming that this whole frakking club is the hub of the Resistance activity. Which is ridiculous, but there you go."

"I don't want to do anything that endangers Kurt more," Burt said.

"Yeah, we figured that out, Papa Bear. All right. So for now, we keep them all where they are. Is there anyone else Kurt's close to?"

"Rachel," Carole said, "although he hasn't been talking about her much these days."

"And Lurch and Mariah are on the _Galactica._ I think we're good to go." Sue started to rifle through the crates and pulled one of the blankets off the cot. "I'm camping out here tonight. It's after curfew, and I don't trust you to go tearing down the streets in a fit of overprotective rage." Burt closed his eyes, and Carole squeezed his hand. "If I were you, I'd have another glass or two and pass out. Just don't puke on me in your stumbling drunkenness, got it?"

Burt was dimly aware that Carole was bickering with Sue, but some part of him had realized that the conversation was over, and he was already retreating deep inside his head. Kurt was inside that detention center. _Kurt._

Somehow, he found himself in bed and staring at the ceiling. His mind had a perfect picture of Kurt, curled into a ball of misery inside a cell. He closed his eyes, trying to _feel_ where Kurt was. He couldn't, of course, but he tried anyway.

"We'll get him out of there, Burt," he heard Carole murmuring. "We'll figure out a way." She was lying, and they both knew it, but it helped him drift off to sleep.

***

The door creaked open, and Kurt sat bolt upright. There were two NCP guards on either side of the door, Doral, and one of the Ones. A Cavil. They all liked to be called Cavil. Kurt eyed them warily.

"Cuff him," Doral ordered the guards.

"Oh gods." The exclamation burst out of Kurt before he could stop it. "What are you going to do?" A guard wrapped flex cuffs around his wrists and pulled it tight, and Kurt's panic rose to a sharp pitch. "What are you going to do?"

"We're going to have a tea party along with our stuffed animals," Cavil said sarcastically. "What do you think we're going to do? Come on."

"Oh gods. Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods." It was a litany Kurt couldn't stop, because even though he'd known this was coming, now that it was here he was scared out of his mind. The guard hauled him to his feet, and with a guard on either side of him, he was pulled out of the cell and led down the hall.

The room he was led to was small and bare, with a few chairs and a table in the center of it. One chair had arms. There was a window in one wall. The window didn't go out to the open, but instead to another room. The guard forced him towards the chair with arms. Out of sheer instinct Kurt tried to bolt as soon as the guard's hands were off him, but other hands held him down and then someone was binding his arms to the arms of the chair and his ankles to the chair's legs. He'd been avoiding looking at the table, but he looked now, and he really wished he hadn't. There was an electric box there, with long wands and lots of wires.

"Why the hell are you crying?" Cavil asked. "I haven't even done anything yet."

"He's soft," Doral explained. "You might not even have to."

Cavil snorted. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he asked Doral. "But somehow, I doubt that, or he'd be talking already."

"Well, there's an easy way to start," Doral said. He crossed his arms. "Tell us who you were giving information to, or we will go pick up Noah Puckerman. You don't want _that_, do you?"

No. But Puck would rather be in here dying than have Kurt talk. Kurt knew that. He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

"Well, that was effective," Cavil said sarcastically.

Doral frowned. "He's been willing to do anything to protect Puckerman before this. I assumed it would work."

"Well, you assumed wrong." Cavil turned back to Kurt. "We never had any interest in, what's his name? Oh, right. Noah Puckerman. Why would we? Sure, he's a Marine, but he didn't know anything and we knew it. He was a frakking private. And he wasn't a threat- if you don't think we searched your tent periodically, well…." Cavil chuckled. "You're even dumber than we thought, and let me tell you, we thought you were pretty dumb."

They weren't going to pick up Puck. Puck was safe. A surge of triumph swept through him, and he steeled himself. These cretins had no idea that some things were more important than pain.

"All right," Cavil said, picking up a long, thin wand from the table. "We tried Doral's way, and, as expected, that didn't work. So let's try my way. Even if it doesn't work, it's a lot more fun." Without any more preamble he touched the wand to Kurt's forearm, and electricity flowed from wand to skin to muscle to bone. Kurt couldn't help it- he screamed. He tried to pull his arm away, but it was held there fast, and all he could do was sit and take the pain. Cavil pulled the wand away, and although Kurt's arm still hurt, the absence was blessed relief.

"Now," Cavil said lightly, "that was me going really, really easy on you. Believe me, there are places you do not want this wand. So tell us. Who were you giving information to?"

A sob escaped Kurt's lips, but he shook his head. He wasn't going to tell. He wasn't.

"Huh," Doral said, watching impassively. "He won't be so easy. Guess I was wrong."

"Of course you were." Cavil touched the wand to Kurt's skin again.

***

Begging was not something that Burt Hummel was good at, but he really had no other choice. He stood in front of Gaeta, hat off, waiting for Gaeta to speak.

"I'm sorry," Gaeta said with a sigh, pushing back from his desk. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel, but there's nothing I can do to help."

"There's got to be something you can do!" Burt protested. "Something I can give the Cylons or- I'll give them anything they want. Hell, if they want, they can have me! Just get Kurt out of that place!"

Gaeta took a deep breath, obviously controlling his patience. "I can't do that. Kurt was caught leaking information. The Cylons caught him red-handed. There is nothing I can do."

"That's what you've said! That's what you've been saying, but there's got to be something," Burt paced, and then spun on Gaeta angrily. "He's a _kid_! Don't you get that? He's just a kid!"

"He's twenty."

"Exactly!" Burt slammed both hands on the desk. "You can't help Kurt. You couldn't help Rya. What _can_ you do?" Gaeta winced and looked away. Burt sighed heavily. "Thanks for nothing," he said, turning away and pulling his coat collar up.

"Wait." Burt stopped and turned around. Gaeta's face was very pale. "I can try."

"You can try. You can _try_ to get Kurt out of there?"

"Not Kurt. I'm not going to be able to get Kurt," Gaeta said. "But Rya. That's… that's Rya Kibby-Evans, right?"

Burt paused. "That's right. How'd you know that?"

"I heard Kurt asking about her. She was taken a few months ago, wasn't she?"

"She was." Burt turned back. "She didn't do anything, either, except work in the water treatment facility."

"There's someone… there's someone I can ask." Gaeta swallowed hard. "I'll ask, okay? I can't ask about Kurt, but I can ask about her. I know it's not enough-"

"You're damn right it's not enough," Burt said, but then softened. "Thank you," he said stiffly. "If you can get Rya out of there, that would be… that would be something."

"I can't promise. But I'll try."

"Yeah, well, thanks." He didn't feel like saying thanks, but he knew he had better. On some level, he understood the distinction that Gaeta was drawing. But all he could think about was Kurt in that detention center, with gods knew what happening to him. If he was even still alive. Burt couldn't bear to think about that.

"Thanks," he said again. He knew he should, but he couldn't bring himself to reach out his hand. Gaeta didn't seem to expect it, either. He just sat there looking at Burt with that damn straight-on gaze that Burt couldn't read or understand, and eventually, Burt just gave up and turned and left the office.

He'd known that talking to Gaeta wouldn't work, but he'd thought he'd feel a little bit better for having tried. He was wrong- he only felt worse for failing.

***

The floor was still hard and cold, but Kurt didn't feel it as much anymore. His cell was safe. It stunk and he was hungry and cold, but they left him alone in here. Two sessions with Cavil and Doral had taught him that already.

Two questions: _Who did you give the information to?_ and _What did you tell them?_ Over and over and over, accompanied by shocks and burns from the electric wand. They were bad and Kurt screamed and cried and begged for it to be over every time, but he didn't break. Both sessions ended with him passing out, and both times he woke up back in his cell, tired, hurting, but still unbroken.

He'd done it twice- he could do it again. And again and again if he had to. He'd show them. Doral thought he was weak and Cavil thought he was an idiot, but they were wrong. Hummels didn't let people push them around. Ever. He repeated those words over and over to himself, holding on to them like a lifeline. He was Kurt Hummel, and no one was going to push him around. Not in Lima, not in the Fleet, and not on New Caprica. Not ever.

***

Anders and Galen called Burt down to the main dugout. Anders had a map spread across a crate, and Galen was studying it was well. Burt wished he could grab the map from them and circle every last location where there might be Cylons- bomb them all. But obviously, that was impossible.

"So I'm thinking that we take out this supply station here," Anders said, pointing to the map. He looked up at Galen. "What do you think?"

Galen scratched his beard. "It's important," he said. "It's also close to the substation. Lot of civilians there." He glanced at Burt, obviously expecting him to argue. Burt didn't say anything. "If we're careful…."

"It could be a big payoff," Anders finished for him. "That's where the Cylons store their fuel."

"Also means a big explosion," Galen said. "We might be better off hitting the landing pad when we've got some coming down from the basestars."

"Why not do both?" Burt said. "We've got the explosives for it. I'll take the fuel supply, you take the landing pad."

"You sure you don't want to do it the other way around?" Galen asked. "The fuel supply's got a bigger chance of harming civilians."

"It's also got the bigger chance of pissing off the Cylons. I'll do it." Burt was grim. Anders clapped him on the shoulder; a gesture of solidarity from a man who was missing his wife to a man determined to recover his son.

***

The bomb went off, and the explosion was so powerful that Burt could feel the heat from where he was, behind the relative safety of a low wall. But the heat didn't diminish, and when Burt looked up, he saw why. There was still fuel burning.

Another small explosion went off as the flames found their way to a contained pocket of fuel. The flames climbed higher, and as the wind blew, the wooden watchtower nearby caught fire.

Sirens began to wail and alarms went off, and Cylons were running to the site of the fire. It was so strange to watch them in a group, all these things that looked like people but were such identical copies of each other. There wasn't really a New Caprica Fire Brigade, or fire trucks, or hydrants. Burt watched as the flames caught one of the Cylon's clothes and he began to scream in agony, and he couldn't help smiling.

***

There was a woman with a high, light voice that was NCP. She talked a lot, and sometimes she sang as she walked up and down the halls on her shift. Kurt never saw her face, but he grew to knew her voice. Her voice was the only real indication he had of how much time went by- each time she came on shift, he assumed another day had passed. He'd been here for five days since he realized that.

He wished he could hear the voices of other prisoners, outside of screams. One day he got so desperate he ended up standing on his toes at the door, shouting out the little barred window at the top. No one answered, and he got a baton striking the bars for his efforts. He retreated to the corner that was furthest from the door, huddling into a ball just to keep warm.

They brought food and water. Not much of either, but enough for him to stay alive. His stomach was tight with hunger and his mouth was dry all the time, but he told himself it was like a Cheerios practice. It didn't help much, but it helped a little, and a little was all he needed.

He wished he could imagine that his friends were furious about his arrest and trying to mount some daring rescue plan. But there was no plan, and he knew it, because there had never been one for Sam. His friends were probably focused on staying alive. He couldn't blame them.

He did worry about Puck, Lauren, and Quinn, though. He wasn't completely sure that Puck was in the Resistance, but he probably was, and if Puck was, Lauren probably was, too. But if they had Puck, Kurt was sure that Doral would gloat. And he doubted they'd have Lauren and not Puck. But Quinn… Quinn was the one most in danger. Quinn was the reason that Kurt couldn't break. He couldn't tell them anything about the others, but what he could tell them about Quinn would get her killed.

Kurt was grateful his father wasn't in the Resistance. The thought occurred to him that he might be, but he dismissed it. His dad had begged him to collaborate and stay safe. And he wasn't the type. Kurt would _know_ if his dad was doing something like that. Besides, his dad's heart would never be able to take it. He tried to keep his dad far from his mind, though. So far, the idea of threatening his father's life to get Kurt to talk hadn't crossed the Cylons minds, and Kurt was grateful. If they had his father, Kurt was sure he'd break in seconds.

The one upside was that here, in this terrible cell, he could think about Blaine again. Memories of Blaine were comfort, and for the first time in almost a year, Kurt could hear Blaine's voice as clearly as if he was there. When he closed his eyes, he remembered that first text Blaine had sent him: _Courage._

_Courage._ Every time Kurt closed his eyes, he could see Blaine mouthing that at him. He wasn't there, not really, although sometimes when Kurt was hungry or hurting or terrified, he could almost believe he could see him. Hallucinations, but there was comfort in it, as messed up as that was. He imagined he could feel Blaine's hand in his, or Blaine's shoulder against his, and sometimes, his imagination was good enough that he almost could. Once he would have called that crazy. Now he called it hope.

Burt and Carole were just coming out of the high school tent when Burt saw a figure that made him stop dead in his tracks.

"Is that…?" Carole began.

"Colonel Tigh!" Burt called out, and Tigh turned around. Burt sucked his breath in. Tigh had a patch over one eye. He walked with a cane now, too, and his limp was obvious as he approached Burt and Carole.

"Good to see you both," he said, extending his hand first to Carole and then to Burt. "Hear you've been keeping busy."

"Yeah. Something like that." Burt couldn't stop staring. Tigh didn't seem bothered by it, although he did flinch when a couple of Cylons walked by.

"Come on. Let's get out of here." Tigh gestured with his head. "Hear your boy got himself picked up," he said as they walked through the streets.

"Yeah. You didn't see him in there, did you?"

"Didn't see much of anyone," Tigh said. "They've got everything on a pretty tight lockdown there." He thumped Burt on the back. "Cheer up. There's a good chance he's not dead."

"How do you know that?"

"Tyrol told me he got caught passing information. They'll want to know what he passed."

Burt shuddered. Carole's hand tightened on his arm, but she mercifully changed the subject. "So now that you're out, what happens next?"

"What's been happening. From what Tyrol and Anders have told me, you guys have all done a pretty good job keeping the Cylons hopping while I was in there. We can't do much more yet."

"What are we waiting for?" Burt asked. "Is there some kind of plan?"

"There's a plan. There's always been a plan. You think the Old Man didn't think this could happen? There was a contingency plan." Tigh gripped his cane harder, leaning on it heavier. "I'd better get home before Ellen starts worrying about me. I'll be in touch."

Burt watched him go. _They'll want to know what he passed._ The eyepatch, the cane…. He looked over towards the huge, menacing bulk of the structure where that detention center was. "Don't think about it," Carole advised. "I'm sure they're not doing anything like that to Kurt in detention."

"How can you be sure?" Burt asked bitterly. "Especially if he did what they say he did?"

"Sam came back to us in one piece," Carole said, as if that was a mantra she'd been repeating to herself. "So will Kurt."

Sam had come back to them. Tigh had come back, too, but missing parts of himself. And people like Anders' wife Kara, Carole's old boss Xeno, Tom Zarek, and Rya…they'd yet to come back at all. Burt wanted to believe Carole, but he had a feeling Kurt didn't have Sam's luck.

***

"What happens?" Kurt gasped, when the electric shock faded from his system and his muscles stopped spasming.

It was just Doral today, and that was what had given Kurt the courage to ask. Doral looked up from the settings on his little electricity box. "Hmmm?"

"What happens if I tell you? Do I live?"

"Oh. Oh!" Doral obviously thought Kurt was close to telling. "Well, what do you think?"

Kurt closed his eyes. His head was throbbing and his limbs were shaking against their bonds. "I think you're going to tell me I live," he said dully. "You have to, because if you tell me you'll kill me, what incentive do I have to tell you anything?"

"I suppose, but I'd like for you to believe me when I say you'll live."

"So you make it so I don't care if I live or die, as long as it's all over."

"That is the general idea of torture, yes. Now, are you going to tell me who you were passing information to?"

"No."

Doral touched the wand to Kurt's neck, and Kurt screamed once again.

***

Burt made sure that his shop was not a place the kids congregated, but he wasn't shocked to see Lauren talking to Brittany when he walked in that morning. "You girls doing okay?" he asked.

Brittany always had a sad expression every time she looked at him these days. It drove Burt crazy, but he kept his mouth shut, because yelling at Brittany was like yelling at a puppy, and her heart was in the right place. She came over and hugged him. Burt patted her on the back, willing himself not to push her away.

"So what's going on?" he said, disentangling himself from Brittany's sympathy.

"Lauren just stopped by," Brittany said. "We were talking about Puck."

"How's Puck doing?"

Lauren shrugged. "He's worried. He and Kurt have gotten close."

"Yeah. Who would have thought it," Burt said, but without any sort of heat. Puck had grown up a _lot_ since the attacks. Hell, _Kurt_ had grown up a lot since the attacks.

Lauren glanced at Brittany, and Burt realized that she'd come here to talk to him. "Brit. You mind going across the street and seeing if Angela's got her bread baking yet? We could splurge for lunch."

"Sounds good." Brittany pulled on her coat and headed out of the tent.

"All right. What's going on?" Burt asked Lauren as soon as Brit was gone.

"The NCP came searching last night." Lauren was all business as she leaned on the counter. "My tent and Puck's. Fortunately, neither of us rate a weapons stash or anything in writing, but they didn't seem convinced."

"Frak."

"I have a bad feeling they're going to pick us up soon." She was matter-of-fact about the possibility. "Which, whatever. They have no idea what the frak they're dealing with if they try that. But if they come, I'd rather be able to go down fighting, you know?"

"Yeah. I know."

"Puck and I were thinking that, if it was okay with you, we could sleep down here." Lauren pointed to where the trap door was hidden. "Maybe Rachel, too."

"Yeah." Burt tipped his hat back. "Let me think about it, okay?"

Lauren nodded. She was about to say something else when a huge explosion sounded. It wasn't very far away. "What the frak?" Both of them ran out into the street.

Other people were coming out to look, too, although not as many as would have at one time. Explosions were becoming a matter of course on New Caprica. But Brittany was out there, watching the smoke wind up from a smoldering ruin across the way.

"It's the New Caprica Police graduation," Brittany said, stunned. "They blew it up."

"Impossible. How the hell would they get a bomb in there?" Burt's brow furrowed as a suspicion dawned. There was one way to get a bomb in without actually planting it… but whoever took it wasn't getting out.

"Suicide bomber," Lauren said softly.

"Frak," Burt said, staring at the smoke. "Holy frak."

***

"I don't like it," Carole said firmly. "Suicide bombing crosses a line."

"Of course it crosses a line," Sue retorted. "That's why it's going to work."

Carole, Burt, Sue, Shannon, Puck, and Lauren had retreated down to the dugout below the shop. Puck and Lauren were busy setting up nests of blankets. Burt noticed that Puck had also moved some of Kurt's things down as well. Carole poured out cups of strong, bad coffee for everyone.

"Thing is," Shannon said, "we don't have much say. This is Tigh's show, with Anders and Tyrol as his right and left hand. We didn't know they were going to do it then, and we won't know when they're going to do it again."

"I'm with Carole on this one," Puck said, coming back to the table. "Normally I'm all for blowing the frakkers up, but they blew a bunch of people up, too."

"At the NCP graduation," Lauren said. "They blew up people who willingly joined the NCP."

"I know. But blowing up our own people… it just doesn't seem right."

"Well, what would you do to people who joined the NCP?" Lauren asked, crossing her arms. "Pat them on the head?"

"No," Puck scoffed. "I don't know. Maybe break their kneecaps or something. Maybe kill them. But not like that." Lauren looked disappointed in him.

"Well, Shannon's right about one thing," Burt said. "We don't have a say in it."

"Good thing, too," Sue said, looking grimly determined, "with you lily-livered lot. How else are we supposed to fight these bastards?"

"I've gotta agree," Burt said. "If it hits the Cylons where it hurts and gets them on the run…" _if it saves Kurt_…. "If it can do that, it's worth it."

If it saved Kurt, it would be worth anything.

***

The door to the cell opened, and Kurt wanted to start crying immediately. But instead of being pulled out, he heard the scraping of metal on stone. He looked up to see Doral dragging a chair in. He sat down and shut the door.

"Drink?" Doral asked, extending a bottle to Kurt. "It's not poisoned," he said when Kurt didn't take it. "Look." He took a small drink, and then wiped off the spout. "Come on. It's juice."

It was. Kurt could smell it, and the smell was too much. He crawled over and extended his hand. Doral gave him the bottle, and Kurt drank thirstily. It was hard not to gulp down too much at once, and the juice was sweet and cold. It was like heaven.

"So," Doral said, crossing his legs and smoothing his fingers down the pants he wore. They were a pair of Kurt's, hemmed and tailored to fit Doral perfectly. "I'm sure you realize that I'm not in here just to give you juice."

Kurt retreated back against the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest and clinging to the juice bottle in his hands. "No," he said, and his own voice sounded rough and strange to his ears. "What are you here for?"

"I'm getting very tired of your attitude," Doral said. "Oh, not right now, but in general. I really did not think it would take you this long to break. And some of my brothers and sisters are getting concerned. I know you can't hear anything in here, but the insurgency is still going strong. Did you know that the insurgents managed to get a bomb into the New Caprica Police graduation?" Doral laughed bitterly. "Of course you knew. You must have told them how."

Kurt looked up, a chill running down his back. He knew about the New Caprica Police graduation, but he hadn't even thought of looking at it as something that the Resistance would be interested in. "I didn't do that."

"Of course you didn't." Doral smirked. "You didn't do anything, did you? Well, whatever you did, I'll have you know that you aren't just responsible for the death of Cylons, but for the death of thirty-three people. Thirty-three humans. Think about that."

"I didn't do it," Kurt insisted, shaking his head.

"Enough," Doral said sharply. "The point is, we've played around long enough. We've gone really easy on you Kurt, because while you may not believe it, I liked you. You have twelve hours to tell us everything, and then the gloves are coming off. Do you understand me?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Enjoy the juice," he said, standing up and dragging the chair out of the room. "The clock is ticking," he added, and then slammed the door shut.

Kurt dropped his head to his knees, hugging his legs tightly. He'd thought he was doing so well, but he had the terrible, terrible feeling he was wrong.

***

_We've gotta keep the toasters jumping_, Saul Tigh had said. _These bombings, they send 'em running. They don't know which way to look, and that's just what we need. It's getting close, Hummel, and we've got to keep everything a mess down here so the Cylons can't get organized._

Organized. There was something in the air, something that Burt knew was big. After the fire he'd set off, the Cylons had approved mass fire drills for the entire community. On the surface, it seemed like exactly the kind of thing the Cylons wanted to do- lip service to peace and prosperity, pretending to care about the humans' safety. But Schuester had told Burt that it was Tory Foster who'd brought the idea to the Cylons. Tory Foster, who still worked with Laura Roslin. Roslin had been taken into detention for suspected Resistance activity after the bombing at the graduation ceremony. She'd been released, but Burt was sure she was Resistance anyway. If these were really fire drills, Burt would eat his own hat. Whatever they'd been building up to was coming, and Burt was pretty sure it was some sort of escape. He had no idea how the hell it was going to happen, but he was pretty sure Tigh and Galen and Anders did.

He wished he could say something like that to Brittany. She looked so downcast as they walked together through the marketplace. "Cheer up," was the best he could manage. "I'll buy us some coffee."

Brittany smiled weakly. "All right. But you know coffee stunts your growth."

"Think it's a little late for that." Burt dug his wallet out of his pocket and led Brittany over to a stall. There were some tired looking pieces of fruit as well, and Burt bought each of them one. They stepped to the side out of the foot traffic, and Burt sipped his drink. It might be tasteless, but it was at least hot, and that was something.

"I've got to be on the crews this afternoon," Burt said, watching how many people walked with their heads down or their eyes forward. "You think you can handle the shop till then?"

"Sure. You don't need me on the crew today?"

"Nah. I've got some welding to do today. Galen's got me covered."

Brittany nodded and took a bite of her fruit. The juice dribbled down her chin, but she caught it deftly with one finger. Burt was about to say something when Brittany perked up. "Oh, wait. There's Mr. Grant. I need to talk to him about his cat. Mr. Grant!" She ran off after the short, skinny clerk, catching up easily. Burt shook his head good-naturedly. Brittany and her cats. It was nice to know some things would never change. And "talking about the cat" probably meant she'd spend half the afternoon with it. If he actually had business, Burt would be annoyed. But as it stood, he watched Brittany walk arm and arm with the old man, further down the path and away from the marketplace, until he lost sight of her. He went back to his coffee and his fruit.

He had almost finished his coffee when he caught sight of a woman walking by. She was an older woman with a straight bearing and gray hair- he knew her by sight from the crews. She was walking purposefully, her stride long and her face white. Burt lifted a hand, but she didn't acknowledge him. She just walked on, her pace accelerating.

He didn't know what tipped him off, if it was the lumpy jacket that hid her normally slender form or the expression on her face or the sweat on her brow or the memory of the bombs he'd helped Tyrol make last night. But somehow, he knew, before it happened. She was one of Tigh's suicide bombers. His first thought was _good_, because he knew where she was headed. She was headed down to a rations station that the Cylons frequented. It was the only thing she could be headed for around here.

She was almost out of sight when it dawned on him that she had gone in the same direction as Brittany.

He tried to convince himself that Brit wouldn't be in the same vicinity as the woman, but he couldn't. He started walking, and then picked up to a jog. The explosion had to be coming soon, and every passing second strung his nerves even tighter, until he dropped his coffee and fruit and broken into a run. Soon he was shoving people aside, desperate to get to the other end of the walkway.

The explosion, when it came, still shocked the hell out of him. People began screaming and running, and Burt had to run against the crowd, straining to get to the rations station. It seemed to take forever, and his lungs were on fire and his heart was pounding and his hands were shaking and he felt sick. And when he got to the station, he actually had to be sick, because there were Brittany and Mr. Grant, both lying on the ground. Both completely still, with their eyes open. Burnt, bloody, and broken.

Both dead.

***

The wind whipped through the cemetery, kicking up dust. It wasn't a lush, green, peaceful place like the cemeteries on Gemenon had been. The New Caprica cemetery was bare and rocky, with the graves marked with small tokens. Wooden symbols, piles of stones, bits of broken colored glass… and probably many that were unmarked. It occurred to Burt that there were a _lot_ of graves here. He wanted to believe that a lot of them were graves that people had constructed to honor people who had been lost on the Colonies, but he had a terrible feeling they weren't. It was easier to look around that cemetery than at the open grave before him.

Quinn, Rachel and Lauren stood together, with Puck on Lauren's other side. Tina held Blaine, who was mercifully asleep, and Mike stood by her, his expressive face mournful. Sam stood off to the side a little, his hands awkwardly jammed in his pockets, his face dark. He had a bruise, Burt noticed idly- a large, greenish bruise on his forehead. He should have noticed something like that long before now. But Sam wasn't catching his eye- he was staring at the open grave like he couldn't believe Brittany was really dead. And those were the only kids here. New Directions had never felt as divided as it was right now. Sue stood with crossed arms and a steely face, and Shannon kept wiping her eyes. Schuester was so pale that Burt thought he'd pass out.

It was wrong. It was all wrong. First and foremost, Santana should be here. It wasn't fair that she wasn't on the _Pegasus_, gods only knew how far away while Brittany was being laid to rest. Would some sense tell her? Burt wanted to believe he'd know if Carole was dead. But since he wasn't even sure about Kurt… probably not. Santana had no idea. And Mercedes and Artie and Finn, they would all be here, too, if they could.

They weren't even sure if they'd gotten the right priest. There were kids that Burt knew which gods they worshipped, but Brittany wasn't one of them. Quinn had dryly said that the closest thing she'd ever seen Brittany worship was cats, but that was no help. They'd finally agreed on a priestess of Aphrodite, who now stood at the head of the grave, reading the Scriptures. Burt tried to listen to the words, but they rolled off of him unheard.

The priest was winding up, and Burt pulled his attention back to the grave in front of them. Brittany's body was already in the hole, shrouded in a ragged blanket. Burt wished he could see her face one more time, that he could just hug her one more time. He wished… he wished a lot of things he wasn't getting. He stared hard into the grave.

The first clod of earth surprised him. Rachel tossed it down, her jaw set as she did so almost defiantly. Lauren followed her, and then Quinn, and then Puck. Burt stared dully at the way the dirt splattered across the colorless blanket.

There had to be a song, and of course it was Rachel who started singing, some soft song that Burt didn't know. But to Rachel's credit, she modified her voice as the others joined in. It was a muted, beautiful song, and no one voice stood out. Which seemed appropriate, because yeah, the person who should have the honor of singing for Brittany wasn't here.

Schuester and Shannon were both crying, Carole was wiping her nose on her sleeve, and even Sue had to wipe away a tear, but Burt kept staring, his eyes dry. The song ended and the priest said the final words, but Burt couldn't move. Even as the others began to move away from the grave, he stood frozen. Carole patted his arm and stepped back, giving him space, and soon he was the only one left at the graveside.

He knew he'd begun to think of Brittany as a daughter. All of these kids were his in a way, and Brit had worked closely with him for two years. But he hadn't fully expected this reluctance to consign her body to the ground. He wished he could put more over her than just a blanket. Maybe a coat, or mittens. Brittany always liked mittens. A little snort escaped him at the thought, but when the amusement fled, he felt even emptier.

He felt like he should say something, but what? Nothing really fit. He tried to speak, but his voice was hoarse and there were no words. So he stood alone on the edge of the grave, cold in the wind, staring down at the blanket that had dirt scattered across it.

He hadn't wanted this job, and yet, he couldn't bear to think of anyone else doing it. He picked up the shovel that was standing in the pile of dirt and took a deep breath. Then, as gently as if he was tucking a child into bed, he began to fill the grave.

***

"Kurt?" Doral's voice sounded kind as he opened the door. "Have you made your decision?"

Kurt swallowed hard and rubbed his palms against the filthy fabric of his jumpsuit. It took him three tries to speak. "I have," he croaked. "I'm not telling you anything."

Doral sighed heavily. "I was afraid you'd say that. I wasn't joking, Kurt."

"I know. I'm not, either."

"All right." Doral snapped his fingers. "Let's go."

Two NCP guards came in and hauled Kurt to his feet. Even though they wore masks, Kurt could tell that one was a woman and one was a very tall man. He tried to focus his mind on the little details, because someday, when he got out of this cell, he'd make them pay. He would. He kept telling himself that as they marched him down the hall.

The chair looked just like it did every other time, and the guards manhandled Kurt into it, tying his arms and his legs down. But there was no electricity box on the table this time. There was just a pair of pliers. Kurt wondered if Doral was serious about upping the stakes.

Doral sat down across from him and picked up the pliers. He took Kurt's right hand in his. "All right, Kurt. One last time. What did you tell them, and who did you tell?"

Kurt squeezed his lips together and shook his head.

"Fine. Have it your way." With no other preamble, Doral gripped Kurt's hand so firmly that the bones ground together, maneuvered the needle nose pliers under a fingernail, and then ripped.

Kurt screamed.

The pain was searing- far worse than those electrical tortures had been. Doral sat calmly watching him, the full, bloody nail gripped in the pliers. He discarded the nail, and then grabbed Kurt's hand, held the finger still, and ripped out another. One more followed.

"Tell me," Doral said calmly. "Tell me what I want to know."

It was the hardest thing that Kurt had ever done in his life, but he shook his head again. "I'm not going to tell you," he said, his words garbled by the tears. "You can just tear them all out."

Doral smiled grimly. "And indeed I will."

By the end, all ten of Kurt's fingers were bloody and felt like they were on fire. He'd never felt such intense agony, but he still didn't speak. He'd held out this long… he could do this. He could.

"Well," Doral said with a sigh, "once again, you surprise me. It really is too bad we never got you into the New Caprica Police, you know."

Despite his pain, those words caught Kurt's ear. "What?"

"The New Caprica Police. Oh, come on. You figured it out, didn't you? Once I'd gotten all the clothing I wanted from you in exchange for Puckerman's safety, I had every intention of convincing you to join. I wanted your loyalty… I wanted to be proud of you. If you'd joined them, I would have been."

"The New Caprica Police," Kurt repeated. "But I can't even fire a gun." He was still squirming, his fingers hurting so badly that it spread up his arms and made him want to throw up.

"I know." Doral cleaned the blood off the pliers with a rag. "You would have learned."

"I thought-" Kurt began. Doral cocked his head and studied him.

"What did you think?" Kurt didn't answer, and Doral tapped his finger on Kurt's ruined nailbed, hard. The resultant pain triggered the nausea, and Kurt leaned over as far as he could to vomit. The bile landed on his own clothes, but at least he hadn't choked himself. Doral sighed and wiped Kurt's face with the bloody rag. "What did you think?"

"I thought… I thought you wanted…" the words burned his already raw throat. "I thought you wanted _me_."

"Oh. _Oh._" Doral considered that. "I never even thought of it. Interesting, don't you think? Although if you'd offered…" he ran his eyes over Kurt. "After all, Caprica can't leave Baltar alone, and there's an Eight who swears…. You know, that could have been interesting. I'm almost sorry we won't ever find out." Doral sighed. "Oh, well. Now. I suppose you're wondering what's coming next, and the answer is simple. You'll go back to your cell and suffer for twenty four hours. Believe me, having a nail ripped out _hurts_ for a long time. And, in exactly twenty-four hours, I'll bring you back here and start in on your toes. And after that… we'll see what's needed. Take him back to his cell."

As soon as his hands were released Kurt tried to grab at the fingers, but Doral was right- they were so painful that touching them hurt like nothing he'd ever felt before. The guards grabbed him by the arms and marched him back to his cell, and as the door shut behind him, Kurt was sure that this was going to be a far worse night than he'd ever have imagined.

***

The sirens wailed, and Burt automatically put down his tools and headed out into the streets for the fire drill. People were already headed towards their designated "safe areas", and the streets were crowded. He jogged along, glancing up now and then, following along with the evacuation plan.

He ran by the playground he and Brittany had build over a year ago, from materials Kurt and Finn had managed to get them. He didn't want to look at that playground right now, although across the way he spotted Mike and Tina, shepherding a bunch of kids. Mike was carrying Blaine and Tina had another child, and a white armband signifying that she was a block captain. Burt hoped that they'd do better than he did at keeping kids alive.

The path he was on led him through the marketplace, which was closed. The bomb that had killed Brittany wasn't the last suicide bomber that had gone to their death, although the one the Cylons had caught had died by execution, after their bomb had been dismantled. The marketplace. Tigh had tried to bomb the marketplace. Everything in Burt said that he should be furious- that he _was_ furious- and yet, Kurt still wasn't home. Blow the whole damn place up until it got Kurt home.

He pulled up to a stop, and suddenly realized that he had reached the place where the block was supposed to meet. A man was timing them, and judging by the look on his face, they weren't quick enough. Burt tried to rouse some sort of feeling about that, but he couldn't. All he felt was an aching deadness that he had to ignore to keep going, because even though Brittany and Kurt were gone, there were still kids that needed him, and still a fight that needed fighting. All around him, people were listening to what they thought were instructions for a fire drill but were really instructions for something much bigger. Something was coming, and Burt was sure it was going to be an escape, or the end of humanity.

He was starting to not care which it was, as long as everything was over.

***

Kurt didn't sleep at all. The pain in his fingers only got worse, and the tips looked like raw meat. Worse. Already, Kurt could see signs of infection. He couldn't stop crying, and he couldn't help but wonder why _fingernails_ hurt so frakking much. And the minutes were ticking by, counting down until Doral came back.

The door opened, and Kurt couldn't stop shaking. He'd meant to go quietly, but when the two NCP officers came for him, he screamed and bolted to his feet, determined to run. After all, the open door was _right there_- if he could just make it….

He couldn't. He was too weak and shaky, and they were ready for him. He didn't give in- he fought them tooth and nai… well, not nail- but they pushed and shoved him out of his cell and down the hall. He screamed, he bit, he struck out at them, but their grips only tightened and once again, he was in the chair. The door slammed open, and Doral strode in.

There were no shoes or socks to take off- Kurt had been barefoot since he'd come into this place. He tried to curl his toes underneath, but Doral immediately knelt down and grabbed Kurt's foot. Then one- two- three- four- five- the nails on his left foot were torn out so rapidly that the world went red and dark and the scream that tore from Kurt's throat hurt almost as much as his foot. Doral rocked back on his heels, eyebrows raised.

"Well?"

The searing, intense pain crackled through Kurt in a way he'd never felt, and all of a sudden, everything inside him crumbled. "Quinn Fabray," he said, the words hurting his throat. "I gave all my information to Quinn Fabray. Please. I'll tell you everything- just- please. Don't do that again."

Doral smiled. "All right, Kurt. It's about time."

Hating himself the entire time, Kurt told Doral everything.

***

"You hear what's going on?" Puck asked, falling into step beside Burt.

Burt shook his head. "They sent another suicide bomber to the power substation-"

"Yeah. That's not what I meant."

"But that's the last I've heard." Burt pulled his coat closer around himself. The sleeve was dirty, he noticed idly. Engine grease. He'd have to do something about it.

"Listen." Puck pulled Burt even closer. "I talked to Nowart. He says that they made contact with the _Galactica_."

Burt stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"Keep walking!" Puck hissed. Burt hurried to obey. "They made contact with the _Galactica._ He told me where there's a stash of weapons, and I'm supposed to break them out and start handing them out."

"When?"

"There'll be a signal. But I want to make sure you and Carole and Coach get them."

Burt was about to say that Galen would probably be passing him his own orders when they heard a scream. "What the hell?" Puck asked.

"It's the med tent," Burt said, jerking his thumb at the tent. "They're short on anesthesia these days and-" Two NCP guards emerged, cutting him off. Because in between them, wearing he scrubs and sobbing and struggling, was Quinn.

"I didn't do anything!" she begged. "Please! You have to let me go! I had a _patient_ in there! I didn't do anything!" The guards ignored her, pulling her away.

First Sam and Rya, then Kurt, then Brittany. Now Quinn. Burt didn't think- he just charged towards the guards. To his surprise, Puck caught his arm and grabbed tight, forcing Burt to stop.

"Are you crazy?" Puck whispered. "You can't get caught now!"

"They're taking Quinn!" The guards were forcing her onto a truck. Quinn looked towards them. Burt met her eyes, and he swore he could see her begging him to help her before the guards forced her deeper into the truck. But Puck kept such a tight grip on Burt's arm that he couldn't break away. The truck lumbered away over the muddy roads. Puck grabbed Burt by the shoulders and turned him around.

"Look, I get it, okay? Believe me, I didn't want to just stand here either. But if they're not shooting her, it's for a reason. And if we defend her, they're going to take us in for questioning."

Burt met Puck's eyes evenly. "I can take questioning."

"You really think so? Especially if they still have Kurt and they threaten to kill him?" Burt looked away, his stomach cold. "Yeah. I thought so. And we know about the Fleet coming back- they can't find out about that. We'll get her back, okay? When the Fleet comes, there's no way that they aren't gonna blow the detention center open, especially with Anders' wife in there. We'll get them both back. Come on. We've got to keep walking."

Burt forced himself to obey. "So when's the _Galactica_ coming?" he asked Puck. "How long have we got?"

"Don't know," Puck said. "But it's got to be soon. They aren't going to hang around waiting for the Cylons to find them."

"Yeah." Burt looked back over his shoulder at the med tent. From out here, it looked like business as usual. He shivered. "They'd better hurry. I don't know how long they've got."

***

Kurt was pretty sure he had a fever. The chills were worse than just being cold, and his skin felt hot to his touch. Four of his fingers and three of his toes were swollen and looked disgusting. It wasn't just the nailbed, but the whole digit. And there was pus as well. Definite infection.

He was half dozing when the door opened slowly. "Kurt?"

For one wonderful moment he thought that voice was his father. He pried his eyes open and sat up, but long before the figure resolved itself in his vision he knew who it was. Doral. "I told you everything," Kurt muttered. "Go away."

"I'm not here for that. Come here." Doral extended his hand. "Kurt. We're past the ugliness. This is something different. Come here." His voice was kind and soft. But Kurt didn't trust kind and soft. He struggled to his feet, only because he didn't want to find out what would happen if he didn't. Doral watched until Kurt limped near him. "You smell," Doral said affectionately, catching Kurt by the arm as his legs gave out. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"Cleaned up? Am I going some where?"

"Well, I have to admit, your usefulness is exhausted here," Doral said, steering Kurt down the hall. "However, we can't just let you go. You gave information to the insurgents. But we can get you out of this cell. We're expanding some of our operations."

A labor camp. Kurt lifted his head. He'd be able to be outside, to move around, maybe to even use something besides a bucket as a toilet. Have a shower. Wear shoes. "All right."

Doral smiled. "I thought you might like that. Take your clothes off."

Kurt blinked and looked around. Doral had led him into a room that might have once been intended to be a laundry room, but was now a gang shower. Other people were in there as well, thin bodies under the water. Doral led him over to a shower, and Kurt slowly took off his jumpsuit. Through everything Doral had done to him, one dignity that Kurt had retained was that Doral had only once seen him naked. But the lure of a shower was too much to resist.

The water was cold, but Kurt steeled himself through it. Dirt, blood, and grime colored the water as it ran off his body, spiraling down the drain. There was no soap, so he scrubbed at his skin with his hands. The water hurt his fingers and toes, but the relief of cleaning himself made it worth it. He even dared to tilt his face up and catch the water in his mouth. It had the metallic taste of New Caprica water, but it was wet.

He finished and put his jumpsuit back on, although Doral had to help him with the buttons. Doral also pulled a comb out of his pocket and combed Kurt's wet hair himself, parting it over to the side. "It's not as good as you could do," he said with a sigh, "but it looks better. Do you want to shave?"

Kurt wanted to, but he really didn't want Doral doing that for him, and he couldn't hold the razor. "No. I'm fine." It was bad enough that Doral had to ease his shoes on for him.

Doral cuffed his hands again, and then Kurt was led outside with the others. The bright light almost blinded him, and for a moment, he couldn't see anything. The air was crisp and cold and _fresh_, and there was a breeze on his face. He inhaled deeply. Doral helped him up into the back of a truck, and his eyes refocused. And sitting across from him was-

"Quinn."

Quinn's eyes widened. "Kurt." She was wearing scrubs, her hair was a mess, there was a bruise at the corner of her mouth, and her hands were bound. "You're alive."

He had no idea what to say to that, so he ducked his head. Quinn looked down at his hands. "Oh my Gods," she whispered softly. "Did they do that to your hands?"

"They did."

The truck lurched and began to move. Quinn looked away from Kurt's hands, towards the front of the truck. There were a lot of prisoners in here, Kurt realized, although he didn't really recognize any of them. "Do you know where we're going?" Quinn asked.

Kurt shrugged. "Doral mentioned a labor camp." He couldn't remember the exact words. Quinn nodded and sat back, chewing on her lip. She looked worried. He wondered if he should comfort her, or apologize to her, or _something_, but the truth was he was too tired and it hurt to talk.

The truck bounced over the dirt roads, and its cargo of prisoners was oddly silent. Looking around, Kurt realized that some people had obviously been recently picked up like Quinn, but others had probably been in detention longer than he had. A memory surfaced from the back of his mind and he wondered if Tom or Rya were headed to this camp as well. If they were, they weren't on this truck.

The bouncing was starting to make him feel sick, and he was tired. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the truck. He stayed like that until the truck jerked to a stop.

"Everybody out! Rest stop!" An NCP officer was banging on the trucks, rousing the prisoners. Kurt groaned as he tried to move.

"Do you need help?" Quinn asked sympathetically. Her hands were bound, but she maneuvered herself to help him stand. She had to help him out of the truck, but once they were out he was all right.

"What's happening?" Kurt asked her, looking around. Everyone was out, milling around the trucks. It looked like there were at least eight or nine trucks about the same size as theirs, which meant they were probably all carrying close to two dozen prisoners. About half of them were wearing regular clothes, and the rest were wearing jumpsuits. There was a woman standing near Kurt that was missing an ear, and Kurt had the terrible feeling he'd been either luckier or less stubborn than other people.

"They said it's a rest stop," Quinn said, looking around. She flexed her hands. "I wish they'd untie us so we could… oh my Gods." Her face went dead white.

"What?" Kurt turned to look in the direction she was staring, and fear froze his blood. "No…."

A line of Centurions was marching towards them, guns extending from their arms. This wasn't a labor camp. This was an execution. A ripple of panic traveled through the assembled prisoners, and Kurt's stomach felt like it dropped to his feet. He stared at the Centurions, his mouth hanging open as they advanced. Their steps were in unison, their joints creaked, and he could even hear the sound of their guns popping up to prepare to fire.

Quinn was praying, speaking quickly and under her breath. But her hand instinctively found Kurt's. He wiggled it free, and instead looped his arms around Quinn and then held her close, squeezing his eyes shut tight. If he was going to die, this would be his comfort- the embrace of a good friend and the touch of her skin. Quinn ducked her head against his chest, and they stood tightly together as the gunshots rang out.

Nothing hit.

The guns kept firing and people were screaming, and Kurt was sure that the Centurions were just working their way down the line. And yet, still no bullets. Nothing. Eventually, the guns stopped, and Kurt and Quinn were both still standing.

"Are we alive?" Quinn asked.

"I am. Are you?" Kurt dared to open his eyes and look around. The humans were all still standing, but the Centurions were smoking heaps of machinery on the ground. He looked around frantically, and saw figures holding guns running down a bluff towards them. Several figures, all smiling, all triumphant, and one of whom was Carole, who was calling his name.

He registered her presence seconds before she reached them, and then her arms were wrapped around both of them and she was crying. Quinn was crying too, smiling incredulously, but Kurt could only just stare at his stepmother.

"You're alive," Carole kept saying. She'd dropped her gun on the ground and was now holding Kurt tight. "You're alive. Oh, Kurt, honey, we've been so worried and your father… your father is going to be so happy to see you."

"Dad's okay?" Kurt still couldn't believe she was here.

Carole pulled back, wiping tears from her dirt smudged face. "Your dad's okay," she said. "Everybody's-" she censored what she was about to say. "Everybody's been so worried about you. Oh, Kurt!" She pulled him close again, kissing him on the cheek, and then released him and embraced Quinn, who looked surprised.

"Hudson!" someone yelled. "Let's get these people free and get them home!"

"I'm moving!" Carole shouted back. She pulled a knife from her belt and cut Quinn's flex-cuffs, and then turned to Kurt's. Kurt shook out his hands gingerly as Carole bent down and picked up her gun.

"You're in the Resistance." It finally dawned on him.

Carole nodded. "So's your dad. Speaking of which, let's get you guys home to him. Come on." She put her free arm around Kurt's shoulders and led him back to one of the trucks, and then she and Quinn helped him in gently. Kurt wanted to be relieved, but he knew he wouldn't be able to relax until he saw his dad face to face. He sighed and looked out the back of the truck at all the people who had just escaped death. A sudden jolt of recognition startled him- Tom Zarek was staring at him.

Tom's mouth was slightly open, clearly surprised. He was wearing the same sort of jump suit as Kurt was, he looked tired and haggard, and his skin was pale and his hair was shaggy. Kurt lifted his hand in greeting, and Tom waved back. It felt so strange, to see him again and across this distance, remembering that last look of intense disappointment that Tom had given him. Was he still disappointed? Kurt couldn't read Tom's face at all.

A woman grabbed Tom's arm, and it took Kurt a moment to realize it was Laura Roslin. She pulled him towards another truck, and Kurt watched him go. Kurt hadn't realized until this moment that he'd given up hope that Tom was still alive, and there was so much he wanted to say right now. But the trucks were starting up, and as theirs lurched forward and Carole jumped up in back, Kurt's thoughts focused on the one person he needed to see even more than Tom, more than anyone else in the world. And he was on his way.

***

Diana Seelix had told Burt to wait in the dugout under the Tighs' while Carole was out on a mission with herself, Tyrol, and a few others. That was all she'd told him, and Burt had come down willingly enough. It was Tigh who'd handed Burt the copy of the list of the prisoners to be executed. Burt would never forget the terrible feeling when he'd seen _Hummel, Kurt_ on that list. So was _Fabray, Quinn._ The only thing that kept him down here was when Tigh told him that the mission was to rescue the people on this list and stop the execution. Burt wasn't sure if it could be done, but Tigh seemed confident. He'd turned to his map, leaving Burt sitting in a chair and worrying.

"You want to stop that?" Tigh demanded when Burt's foot wouldn't stop tapping. "You're driving me crazy."

"Sorry. It's just… that's my kid. My kids, really. And my wife. I should be out there."

Tigh snorted. "I've seen you shoot. You're better off down here. Trust me."

"I should be doing more."

"Yeah, well. That's war. Doesn't always go like you want." Tigh looked back down at his map.

"Yeah." Burt looked down. Because _doesn't always go like you want_ was how Tigh explained young women dying when a suicide bomber went off too close to them. Burt wanted to hate him for it, but the thing about Tigh was that he never said that he'd done the right thing. Only what worked.

Tigh looked at his watch. "They should be back soon."

Burt didn't have an answer to that.

He heard the noise in the tunnels before Tigh reacted. He wasn't sure if he should pick up a gun or if he should hide or what, but before he had to decide, Galen came in, his arm around his wife and his grin triumphant.

"We got 'em, Colonel," Galen said.

"You bring the trucks back?"

"Got people parking them further away. They'll abandon the trucks and run before the toasters can get them." Galen kissed his wife happily. She was wearing a prison jumpsuit- Burt hadn't even realized she'd been taken. Other people began filtering in around the pair. Tigh stood up to greet Laura Roslin. "I've got people spread out," Galen said over the noise of the others coming in. "We'll keep the high profile ones moving or hidden down here, but-"

He said more, but Burt didn't hear it. Because there was Carole, and Quinn, and between them….

"Kurt." Burt began working his way through the dozen or so idiots who stood between him and his son. Kurt!"

Kurt looked up, and his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened, and then he was in Burt's arms and Burt was holding on to him as tightly as he could, kissing his hair and his cheek. Kurt clung to him, crying and shaking. He smelled terribly and he was so much thinner than Burt remembered, but he was _here_, he was alive, and he was safe.

"You're okay," Burt whispered, cradling Kurt close. "You're okay. You're home, you're safe, and I'm not letting anything happen to you again."

***

Kurt was exhausted.

Coming back to New Caprica had been overwhelming. The tunnels and dugouts that he'd never known existed, the press of people after two weeks of isolation. His dad and Carole, both looking so tired and worn and scared and worried, and both in the Resistance, along with Puck and Lauren (which wasn't a surprise), Sue, and Coach Beiste. The Resistance obviously being so much more organized and so much more far-reaching than he'd ever realized. And most overwhelming of all was the news of Brittany's death. Quinn had been the one to tell him, her voice broken as she tried not to cry. Which was stupid, because Brittany was _dead_. Kurt cried when she told him.

Now he was in a dugout that was apparently under his father's workshop, sitting on a pile of blankets that were already here. He had no idea of what time it was, only that it was much less crowded here as other rescued prisoners were moved. His dad had given him a bowl of soup and some water, and was apparently needed somewhere else. On the one hand, Kurt wished he was still close enough to touch. On the other hand, the constant contact with people was just overwhelming.

He tried to pick up the spoon, but even that simple motion caused so much pain in his fingers that he dropped it, choking back tears of pain. His fingers were badly swollen, and he was starting to notice little red lines on some of them.

"They're infected." Quinn came in, carrying a small kit. "Badly, from the looks of it."

"I know that." Kurt glared at his fingers. "It's not like I could take better care of them."

"I know." Quinn knelt down and took the bowl of soup from him. "You can eat after."

Kurt sighed and let Quinn take his hand. She opened up her kit and began to clean his fingers. It _hurt_, but her hands were firm on his and he couldn't pull away.

"We'll have to get antibiotics into you fast," Quinn said. "You have a fever."

"That's bad?"

"Bad enough." Quinn's voice was deliberately light, but Kurt could see the concern on her face when she looked at his hands. He let her work, wincing in silence.

"I told them. The Cylons, I mean." The words tore out of him when Quinn had finished with his first hand. "I told them about you."

"I'd hope so." Quinn looked up and touched a spot on his temple. "It looks like you have some burns, too." Kurt didn't answer, and Quinn bent back over his other hand. "I knew the risks," she said simply. "I don't blame you at all. Besides, it turns out they were just going to shoot me."

Kurt wondered if Quinn had told them anything and that was how she'd avoided torture. He decided not to ask. Besides, by now he was shivering, and whatever Quinn was doing hurt again. He leaned against the dirt wall and closed his eyes, letting her get on with it.

Quinn had just finished up and was putting everything away when the hatch above them opened. Kurt tensed, but the first person down the ladder was Puck. Puck stopped very still, eyes wide, then bounded over and pulled Kurt into a tight, almost suffocating embrace.

"Hey. He still needs to breathe." A familiar-looking man with a teddy-bear sort of physique pulled Puck off, much to Kurt's mild relief. "You're Kurt, right?" Kurt nodded. "Yeah, I remember you from before. You worked with Zarek." Kurt's confusion must have shown on his face, because the man extended his hand. "Galen Tyrol." He looked down at Kurt's hands and retracted his own sheepishly.

"You had a beard," Kurt said, finally realizing where he knew Tyrol from.

"Right." Tyrol shifted. "I've already talked to Quinn, so I know a lot of what was going on, but I've got a few questions for you, if you don't mind."

Kurt shrugged, trying to ignore the fact that Puck had seated himself next to him like a glowering guard dog. "That's fine."

"Was Quinn your only contact in the Resistance?" Tyrol asked. Kurt nodded, but Tyrol didn't seem convinced. "Really? There wasn't anyone else?"

"No."

"All right. How did you communicate with Quinn?"

"We… talked." Kurt wasn't sure how to answer that. "I mean, we knew each other already, and New Directions socializes enough that no one thought anything of it."

"But there was no signal?" Tyrol persisted. "Nothing like, I don't know, a flag somewhere or a sock on a door or a flipped dog bowl?"

"Nothing."

Tyrol sighed heavily. "Kurt, was there anyone else in the administration that you think could have been a source? Someone high placed, with access to some very sensitive information?"

Kurt thought about it. "I can't think of anyone," he admitted.

"What about the Quorum?"

"They're only there symbolically."

"Right." Tyrol frowned. "What about Gravens? The Minister of Defense?" Kurt shook his head. "Johnson? Xi? Crassius? Gaeta?"

The other names hadn't affected him, but at Gaeta's name, a red-hot rage swept through Kurt. "Not Gaeta," he said angrily. Tyrol sat back on his heels, eyebrows raised questioningly, but Kurt barely even noticed. He was back in Baltar's office the day Doral caught him. "Gaeta," Kurt practically spat, "Gaeta was there when they arrested me. Cavil wanted to shoot me, but Gaeta told them I'd break easily. He was so convinced I'd tell them everything I knew. He told an Eight-" Kurt broke off, remembering the Eight's hand on Gaeta's shoulder. "He wouldn't stand up to the Cylons," Kurt said bitterly. "He's right there with them."

Tyrol nodded resignedly. "Thanks, Kurt." He patted Kurt on the knee and stood up. "Listen, get some sleep, all right? You're going to need it." He looked at Puck. "You've got your orders?"

"Yes, sir."

Quinn spoke up. "Is there any chance I could get some more medical supplies? Maybe an antibiotic?"

Tyrol shook his head. "I can try, but I don't know what Cottle's got." He glanced at Kurt, and then back at Quinn. "Let me know if it gets urgent, okay?" He knocked his fist awkwardly against the ladder. "Get some sleep, guys. I'll be in touch." He climbed the ladder and was gone.

"You," Puck said, turning to Kurt, "are officially a bad ass. What the frak were you thinking?" He turned to Quinn. "Both of you. You're insane."

"Like you should talk," Quinn said primly, putting her equipment away neatly and picking up the bowl of now cool soup. She spooned some up and offered it to Kurt. He glared at her, because it was the least dignified thing ever, but the smell of the soup, his growling stomach and his sore hands made him accept. "So where's Lauren?" Quinn asked as she fed Kurt like a child.

"She's at a meeting. Carole and Beiste and Sue are there, too." Puck smiled. "It's almost over. New Caprica, I mean. New Caprica's almost over."

Kurt closed his eyes for a long moment. New Caprica was almost over. Over a year ago, he'd been one of the first people to set foot on this planet, and it hadn't hit him that this was going to be home. That day was so clear in his mind- the wind in his hair, the blank canvas in front of them, Tom standing next to him and teasing him about his clothes. Baltar walking beside him and Gaeta's scowl. The blue-gray sky and the gravel under his boots. That day suddenly seemed so far away and so close at the same time.

Exhaustion swept over him as he opened his eyes. Quinn and Puck were still talking, but Kurt could barely follow the conversation. He concentrated on eating, but when the soup was gone, he found himself slumping onto the blankets.

"You know, these are my blankets." Puck's voice sounded very far away. Kurt swatted at him, and Puck might have laughed. "Guess I took these from your bed, too." Puck put a comforter over Kurt's shoulders. "Your dad should be back soon. You want me to stay until he's here?"

Puck was sitting close enough that Kurt could feel the warm solidity of his body. Instinctively, Kurt curled around him. "Stay."

"Okay." Puck rubbed his shoulder. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you up if anything happens."

It was a pile of blankets on a dirt floor. The room was cold and badly lit, and Puck and Quinn were still talking. But Kurt felt safer than he had in weeks, and despite the pain in his hands and feet, he quickly drifted off to sleep.

***

Burt returned to the dugout later than he'd wanted to. The lamps were still glowing, and the kids were all asleep. Puck had fallen asleep sitting against the wall, Kurt's head on his lap. Lauren was asleep on Puck's other side, her head on his shoulder. Lauren had gone and gotten Rachel, and she and Quinn were sleeping on the other blankets. Burt walked softly, setting down his bundle, and then sat down on one of the crates.

It bugged him a little that only five of the kids were down here. The others were safe, though. Tina and Mike were probably asleep across town, Blaine in the little cot that Burt had made for him or in their bed. Sam had refused to give up the tent he shared with Rya, but he seemed confident that he was safe. The other four were in the Fleet and Brittany… Burt sighed and ran a hand over his face.

The sound of people coming startled him out of his thoughts, and he leaned forward, assuming it was Carole and Shannon. It wasn't. Sue came into the dugout, a gun slung over her shoulder and a swagger in her step.

"It's like the time I took out four chrome jobs with a single knife throw. It was pretty amazing- I'll tell you about it some time. In fact, I- oh. Hello, there, Greasemonkey." Sue glanced down at the sleeping kids, and to Burt's amazement, actually lowered her voice. "Got some company for you."

Burt was about to say he didn't want any when he saw who was following Sue: Tom Zarek. He got to his feet.

Sue made a face. "Well, looks like it's nap time around here, but if you were expecting anything interesting from this group, then you really spent way too much time in that prison. But don't expect me to hang around this group of sticky fingered rugrats and their babysitter. I'll see you later." Sue punched Zarek lightly on the arm and then headed back out into the tunnel. Burt stared after her for a moment, as did Zarek.

"She's really always like that, isn't she?" Zarek asked.

"No, that was Sue in a good mood. You here to see Kurt?"

"That was the idea, yes." Zarek glanced at the kids. "I don't think I want to wake him up though."

"Probably best not to," Burt said mildly. He sat back down and pointed to the other crate. "He's been through a lot, although I'm betting you know that better than anyone."

"Yes." Zarek sat down stiffly, bracing his hands on his knees as he eased down. He didn't _look_ like he was in too bad of shape, but Burt had a feeling that the clothes were hiding a fair bit.

"You okay?"

Zarek waved it off with an abashed smile. "Fine. They lost interest in me… oh, I'd guess about two months ago, when it became obvious I wasn't going to tell them anything. Not that I knew anything to tell." He chuckled. "After a while, even Cavil had to admit that Adama wasn't likely to have told _me_ anything." Zarek looked back over at Kurt. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Guess so. Quinn says he's got a nasty infection in his hands, but if we can get him treatment he'll be okay. And if we can get him back up to the Fleet…" Burt shook his head. "Doesn't quite seem real."

"Hope never does at the end of a long tunnel of darkness."

"Right."

"I heard about your assistant," Zarek said. "I'm sorry."

"Thanks." Burt wasn't sure what else to say to that. "She was killed by a suicide bomber. Guess that's what happens during war."

"That doesn't mean that it's not regrettable." An awkward silence fell between them again.

"You blew up that building," Burt said finally. Zarek looked a little surprised, but nodded. "Do you ever regret it?"

Zarek smirked. "You're not asking me if I regret it. You're asking me for absolution for whatever it is you've done."

Burt sat back. "No. I'm not looking for any of that. Guess I'm looking to know if there's a chance that when all the dust settles, I'm going to be able to live with it."

"Let's see if we live through it at all." Zarek stood up and stretched. "I should probably get back to where I'm supposed to be. Please tell Kurt I stopped by." He smiled and extended his hand. "Good luck getting up there."

"Yeah." Burt took it. "You, too. You need help getting back through the tunnels?"

"I'll find my way," Zarek said. He smirked again. "And so will you, I'm guessing." He winked, and then disappeared into the darkness of the tunnels.

Burt closed his eyes. New Caprica- with all its promises and disappointments and horrors and losses and triumphs- might all be behind them this time tomorrow night. It was impossible to believe. He opened his eyes, got up, and walked over to kneel down beside Kurt. He touched Kurt's hot brow. Kurt flinched at the touch, but didn't wake up. But he was alive, and he was back with Burt. Safe.

They hadn't traded Brittany's life for Kurt's- even in his guilt and grief, Burt knew that. But he'd been saying in his head that Kurt's safety was worth any price for so long that they felt linked. Maybe they were. Maybe, if the Gods had any say in what was going on down on this mudball of a planet, Brittany had been able to convince them to save Kurt. Burt almost laughed at the thought. If he was thinking that Brittany could change the minds of gods, maybe it was time for some sleep. The idea stayed with him though, even as he tried to make himself comfortable and wait for Carole to come from her briefing.

"Don't know if you're up there," he said into the silence, "but if you are, do me a favor, will you? Make sure they all get to the Fleet. Maybe you aren't talking to the gods, but then again, maybe if anyone can make them see things different, it's you. Watch out for us, Brit. I think we need all the help we can get."

There was no answer, and there was no one listening. That's what Burt told himself as he closed his eyes. But he couldn't shake the feeling that someone had heard.

Kurt's stomach was twisting with nerves. Rachel sat beside him, her arm threaded through his. Quinn was pacing, talking quietly under her breath. Kurt had never felt so useless in his life.

He hadn't left the dugout under the workshop much in the day he'd been freed, except to go take a shower. It had been a risk, but as far as Kurt was concerned, it was a worthwhile one. Puck had brought some of his clothes down, and it felt good to be out of the jumpsuit as well. After kicking the filthy gray material across the floor, Kurt silently promised that he would never, _ever_ tease Tom about his prison jumpsuit again. There were no good memories attached to those.

"What happens next?" Rachel asked, for what felt like the millionth time.

"When they come down and tell us, we run. Just like the fire drills," Quinn said. Her voice was strained with impatience. "And we take the bags." There were four large bags on the ground, tied up with what clothes, blankets, and other items they could carry on their backs. It wasn't much.

"I wish we were with the others," Rachel said. "Mike and Tina and Sam. We should all be together. It's a momentous occasion and-"

"Shh!" Quinn held up a hand, pausing in her pacing. Kurt and Rachel both stilled, and they heard it. They hadn't been able to hear much in this dugout, but this explosion was audible.

"Oh my gods," Kurt whispered. "It's starting."

Rachel stood up. "Should we…?"

"Should we what?" Quinn was already shrugging on her bundle. "Let's get ready."

Rachel looked down at Kurt with wide, scared eyes. Kurt got to his feet, swallowing hard. This was it. And that was confirmed when they heard the door open and Puck thundered down the ladder. He was carrying a gun.

"Come on," he said, gesturing with his head. "Let's move it."

Kurt went up the ladder first, since he needed a bit of a boost due to his injuries. The trap door brought him out into his father's shop. Kurt noticed that all the pictures had been taken down and he knew some of the small tools had been distributed through the packs, but there was a _lot_ that was just going to be left. Quinn was just coming out of the dugout when his father came running in. He was smudged with soot and dirt, but he had a grim smile.

"Pretty big bang out there, Burt," Puck said.

"Yeah." Burt leaned down and picked up another pack. "I did my part. Your turn."

"Where are the others?"

"Getting their guns. They were meeting at Johnson's." Burt turned to Quinn, Rachel, and Kurt. "You guys remember what you're supposed to do?" They all nodded. "Good. Now, when you get out there, it's crazy, all right? It's not too bad yet, but it's going to get a lot worse as the Cylons catch on. So you just _run._ Don't drop your packs. Having them on could actually protect you. Whatever you do, just keep running. We're trying to get up to the shipyard. Once we're there, just get on a ship. It doesn't matter which one- they'll sort everyone out once we get away. Okay?"

Another explosion rocked the earth before they could answer. Sirens and screams filled the air, and the answering sound of gunshot. And they were going out there.

"Kurt." His father was facing him. "You gonna be okay?"

This was it. This was their only chance to get off New Caprica, and to get away from the Cylons. Kurt thought about everything he'd been told about Blaine on Caprica, how he'd been so terrified but done what he needed to do. Not doing this wouldn't just mean his death, but letting Blaine down somehow as well. Kurt nodded. "I can do this."

His dad smiled. "I know you can. I'll be right there, okay? We'll be doing this together."

"Okay."

Puck looked out the tent. "I see the others. Let's go." He plunged out into the street, his gun in hand. Quinn and then Rachel followed. Kurt squeezed his dad's hand, took a deep breath, and then ran out into the street.

It was _loud._ He'd known that inside the workshop, but the thick canvas had muffled it a bit, and out in the streets it was different. "Come on!" Lauren yelled. Kurt spotted her with Coach Beiste, Sue, and Carole, all of them holding guns. Big guns, like the one Puck was carrying, and Sue had apparently somehow scored a huge tube that Kurt was pretty sure could take down an entire ship. He began to run, hissing as each impact against the ground hurt his foot.

There was no need to ask which way to go- the people were running in one direction. All of them running. Unbidden, the words _run fast for your mother, run fast for your father, run for your children, for your sisters and your brothers_ started running through his mind. _Leave all your love and your longing behind, you can't carry it with you if you want to survive._ So long ago, they'd been standing on a stage singing that because the worst was behind them. He shook his head- this was _not_ the time for memories. Just to _run._

Another explosion went off, and Kurt instinctively covered his head with his hands. His dad grabbed his wrists. "Keep running!" he shouted. "Don't stop!"

Kurt knew that it couldn't be long before the Cylons got organized enough to start doing _something_, and he was right. A shower of bullets came down from one of the watch towers. "Get back!" Sue screamed, pushing Quinn out of the way. Burt pulled Kurt back just in time, and a couple of bullets struck the ground right in front of them, creating a small dust storm. His father yanked him down and they all scrambled for the scant cover behind a tent.

"This won't stop bullets," Rachel said, crouched beside Kurt, practically hyperventilating. "It's just fabric. It won't stop anything."

"Shut up," Lauren said, peering out into the street. She pulled back, took a deep breath, and then leaned back around the corner and fired. Kurt watched her with a little bit of awe. "Come on. We can at least get to the next tent."

They made it two more tents before they were forced to duck out of the main pathway again. This time not everyone was so lucky, and a man about ten paces from them fell with a scream. Kurt watched with horrified eyes as the man lay in the dirt, eyes open, completely still.

Carole crept past Kurt and up towards Lauren. "We're not going to get very far with that watchtower," she shouted.

"We could take it out," Puck suggested. "We've got that mortar Sue snagged us."

"And only two rounds," Sue said. "Let's not waste it just yet." She glanced up at the sky, as if she was searching for an answer. All that was up there were raiders, which were now streaking across the sky and shooting down at the people trying to escape.

"We could go back the way we came," Burt suggested. "Try taking the route for the next sector over."

Carole shook her head. "We've got to get the four of you to the shipyard. You're not armed."

"How are you going to get us there if-"

"Look!" Beiste shouted, pointing up. Up against the blue sky, something was falling. It got bigger and bigger, glowing as it burned in the atmosphere.

"Holy frakking shit," Puck said, awe in his voice. "It's the _Galactica!_"

"Impossible!" Sue said, but she was wrong. Now that Puck had said it, they could all see that it was the battlestar, plunging towards the ground. The noise and the wind were incredible. The _Galactica_ was blocking out the sun now, and was well into the atmosphere. As they all looked up, small crafts shot from both sides of the ship.

"Vipers!" Puck shouted excitedly, and let out a primal scream, lifting his gun in salute.

The Vipers soared away, and then they were all knocked flat by a burst of air as the _Galactica_ jumped away, presumably out of the atmosphere. Kurt lay flat in the dust, stunned. And when he looked up, the Vipers were engaging the raiders, and even better, one started firing on the watchtower that had been making it impossible for them to run. The top of the tower exploded in a fiery burst of flame, and Kurt couldn't help the shout that escaped him at the sight.

The _Galactica_ had come back for them. The _Fleet_ had come back for them. All of a sudden, escape seemed real and possible. Kurt got to his feet and managed to get a few paces before someone grabbed his shirt and pulled him back. Just in time, too, because a Raider streaked over them, firing down at the street that Kurt had nearly run into.

"They're starting to get away!" Rachel said. Kurt looked in the direction she was pointing, and sure enough, one of the ships was already rising, ready to take off. As much as the sight was exciting, it scared him, too. What if they didn't make it to the shipyard before all the ships took off? He couldn't bear to be left here on New Caprica with the Cylons. He was pretty sure he'd rather be dead than have that happen.

The raider above them passed, and they all started to run again. It was terrifying, with all the shooting around them and the screams and the sounds of ships right above them and ships taking off over in the shipyard. Kurt could barely breathe. His adrenaline was so high that his hands and feet seemed inconsequential, and right now all that mattered was not getting shot.

"Get down!" Lauren shouted, and the raider came back for another pass.

"Frak!" Shannon said when the raider had passed. "It's really dogging this row, isn't it?"

"We're not going to get out of here unless we take it out," Sue agreed. "Porcelain, Q, Cueball, and Screech- get ready to run. Grandma Moses, you're our best shot. Mohawk, Tubs, and Tubs Junior, you cover us."

"Our names might be less confusing," Carole said dryly, but she took the mortar that Sue extended. "I've never shot one of these before."

"Be ready for one hell of a recoil," Sue said. The two of them dashed out into the open, and Carole knelt down awkwardly, aiming the mortar. Sue put her hands on both of Carole's shoulders, bracing her. Puck, Lauren, and Coach Beiste were still firing at something, although Kurt couldn't see at exactly what. Carole's face was pale and determined, and as the raider swooped down, she held her ground. Kurt held his breath, watching through his fingers, desperately hoping his stepmother's brains wouldn't end up splattered across the ground. Carole's eyes narrowed, she braced, and then she fired. The recoil sent her sprawling back into Sue, who was like a wall behind her. Sue held onto Carole's shoulders as they both watched the progress of the bomb. It tore off a wing and the raider spiraled out of control, crashing in a blaze several hundred feet away. Sue yelled and punched the air, and Carole closed her eyes gratefully.

"Come on!" Burt ordered, pushing Rachel, then Quinn, then Kurt. "Let's run!"

"I can't." Puck was gaping at Carole and Sue. "I am way too turned on to run right now."

"Oh, for the love of-" Lauren caught Puck's wrist and yanked him along.

The settlement was emptying out fast, and already, running was becoming easier. But the problem was all too obvious. More and more ships were getting off the ground as people boarded, and more and more were jumping away. "We're not going to make it," Rachel said.

Kurt glanced over his shoulder. "_Colonial One_ is still here. Maybe we should run for there."

"We'll have to get through Cylons," Coach Beiste said, shaking her head. "Better to try to stay on course and make it to the shipyards."

There were a lot of bodies on the ground. Kurt shuddered as he noticed them, and then trained his eyes on the shipyards. How many ships were left? Not that many, probably. What if-

Before he could finish the thought, a Raptor landed not more than twenty yards away. Kurt wondered why, but there was no time for answers. Centurions were behind them, shooting.

"RUN!" Sue roared at them, and then turned around and began firing back. Kurt hazarded a glance over his shoulder, and began to run even faster. The Raptor hatch opened up, and the pilot leaned out, hand extended. It took Kurt a second to realize that he knew that face.

"FINN!" Rachel shrieked, and she ran faster than Kurt had ever seen her run. Finn pulled her up, and Rachel was on. Then Quinn, and then Finn's hand closed around Kurt's. The contact made him remember just how badly his hands hurt, but Finn's smile made the pain not matter at all. Burt climbed on after, and Beiste was just getting on when they heard the scream. Kurt spun just in time to see Carole fall to the ground.

"Mom!" Finn started to jump out of the Raptor. Shannon caught him.

"Let the others get her," she said. "If you need to be doing anything to get us off this rock, do it!"

Burt was already jumping down out of the Raptor. Kurt wanted to join him, but he had the feeling he'd be worse than useless. Sue was on one side of her and Puck on the other, and Lauren was still shooting back at the Cylons. Puck heaved Carole on. "Gods, man, you always show up at just the right time," he told Finn.

"Kurt!" Finn said, startling him out of his worry. "There's a list of instructions on the ECO station there. Buttons to push. Can you do it?"

"I can try." Kurt sat down at the chair. The ECO station in the back of the Raptor was confusing- far more so than any computer keyboard that Kurt had ever come across. He started locating buttons.

"Clear some space," Sue ordered, helping Carole lay down. Carole was groaning and swearing, clutching at her shoulder. Quinn shoved Sue away, knelt down and began tearing at Carole's clothes. Burt was holding Carole's hand, his face white. Kurt found himself watching in horror.

"Kurt!" Finn shouted. "I need that launch sequence going."

"Sorry." Kurt went back to the instructions. He heard Puck getting on, and then Lauren, and then the hatch door began to close. All of them had made it.

"Where are the others?" Finn asked.

"They were in a different sector," Rachel said. "Hopefully they made it to one of the other ships."

"We're gonna have to hope," Sue said. "I don't think this Raptor can take many more of us. Get us out of here, Lurch."

Kurt pressed the last button and the Raptor began to lift off. If he leaned just right, Kurt could see out the front window. Below them, fires were burning and dust and ash was flying everywhere, and the settlement was already looking largely deserted. But everywhere you looked you could see bodies. So many bodies. Kurt wondered how many people they were leaving behind, and hoped that the only member of New Directions left on New Caprica was Brittany. As they rose into the air, it occurred to him that he'd never seen her grave. But then they jumped, and the thought was pushed from his head because there in front of him were stars. They were off New Caprica and into space.

"Holy frak," Puck said, flopping back against the wall, his gun balanced on his knees. "No. Seriously. Holy frak."

"Two more jumps to the rendezvous point," Finn said. "Quinn? How's Mom?"

"Not too bad," Quinn said, and there was an audible release of breath in the Raptor. "They hit her shoulder."

"There's a med kit in the cabinet above Kurt," Finn offered. Lauren popped the cabinet open and tossed Quinn the kit. Quinn rifled through it, and then smiled grimly as she pulled out a small tube.

"Blood stopper," she told Carole. "This is going to hurt."

"I had Finn as an unmedicated birth," Carole told her. "Bring it on." Quinn poured the powder on Carole's shoulder, and Carole let out a muted scream, squeezing Burt's hand so tightly it turned red, but then she relaxed, panting heavily. Quiet swept over the Raptor, all the more striking for the noise of battle that had directly preceded it.

"Jumping in three, two, one…." They jumped. Kurt had to close his eyes, because it had been over a year since he'd had the sensation of jumping, and never in a craft this small. But when he opened his eyes, it was still calm, and still quiet.

His dad touched his knee. "You okay there, buddy?"

Kurt nodded. "I'm all right." He managed to smile, and his dad smiled back at him. It still hadn't hit that they were safe.

"One more jump," Finn said. "We're almost there, if everybody can just hang on…." They jumped, and then there before them was the Fleet.

"Look!" Rachel cried out. "The _Cybele_!"

"Whoa. Looks like the _Galactica_ took some hits," Puck said. He leaned forward and looked around. "Where's the _Pegasus_?"

"Destroyed," Finn said shortly.

Kurt's stomach turned over. "Santana?"

"Oh, no. She's all right. At least, I think she is. From what I've picked up over the squawk box, they abandoned the _Pegasus_ and sent it ramming into a couple of basestars." Finn was already off the subject, playing with the communicator. "_Galactica_, this is Raptor 812. Come in, this is Raptor 812."

The communicator finally crackled to life. "Raptor 812, this is _Galactica._" Kurt's breath caught in his throat.

"Mercedes," Finn said, grinning. "You all right?"

"Still at my station. How about you guys?"

"Most of us are fine," Finn said, "but Mom's here, and she's been shot through the shoulder. How far down the landing queue are we?"

"Pretty far down. Is she critical?"

"I don't think so."

"I'm not sure I can move you up much," Mercedes said. She sounded regretful.

"Mercedes, come on. It's _Mom_," Finn begged.

"I know. But we've got a lot of injured people, Finn."

Quinn gestured something, and Finn nodded. "Quinn says-"

"Wait. Quinn's on board with you?"

Finn looked confused. "Uh, yeah. But can't reunions wait until-"

"If you've got Quinn, that's your golden ticket. Congratulations, Twinkletoes, you just moved up to second in the landing queue." They could hear Mercedes' grin in her voice. "Tell Quinn to get her skinny ass to the infirmary as soon as she lands. And if she happens to take anyone on that Raptor with her, that's her business."

"Thanks, Mercedes." Finn was clearly relieved. He looked back at them. "Hold on, Mom. We'll get you to the sickbay."

They approached the _Galactica_, and Kurt found that he couldn't swallow, but in a good way. They'd done it. They'd really done it. They were off New Caprica, they were here in the Fleet, they were _safe_. The relief was so great he nearly fainted dead away on the spot.

Finally, Finn guided the Raptor into the landing bay. "You'd better go with her to the infirmary," Burt told Kurt as Finn turned off the engines. "You need to be looked at, too."

"I'm not going to be critical," Kurt said, although Quinn's expression told him he'd be higher in the triage line than he liked. "Besides, aren't you coming with us?"

Burt shook his head. "There's something I've got to do. No one's gonna want to do it, but it really should be me."

"Okay…." Kurt had no idea what he meant, but there was no arguing with his father.

Burt stood up and kissed Kurt's forehead. From the way he winced, Kurt could tell he must still have a fever. Doubtless he'd feel it once he was in the infirmary and the thrill of the rescue drained away. "Take care of her, will you? I'll be there as soon as I can be."

The Raptor's hatch opened, and Puck picked up Carole. "Can we get a gurney over here?" he shouted, and people were over quickly. Kurt slid out, and Puck clapped him on the shoulder. "You okay?"

"I am," Kurt said, looking around the crowded bay. "It's hard to believe, but I am."

"Yeah. I know what you mean. Listen, I've got to report in, but when I can, I'll get down to sick bay to check on you guys, okay?" Puck glanced at Burt. "And I'll keep an eye on your dad."

"Thanks." Relieved, Kurt slid out of the Raptor. When his feet touched the floor he nearly burst into tears, not from pain, but from the reality hitting him all over again. They were off New Caprica. Doral, the Cylons, the detention center… it was all behind them now. They were here, they were safe, and it was _over_. Someone loaded Carole onto a gurney, and Kurt squirmed in to a place beside her so he could take her hand. Burt and Finn still had jobs to do from the looks of it, but he and Carole were done.

"Come on," he said to his stepmother. "Let's go get us fixed up."

Carole was pale and sweating, but she smiled at him and reached up to touch his cheek with her good hand. "We're going to be fine," she told him. Kurt covered her hand with his, and together, they headed towards the infirmary.

***

Burt walked through the landing bay, searching. There were people all around him, and they were happy. Relieved. The burden had laid down, they'd been saved, and everything was over. The Admiral had been carried off by a cheering crowd, people were starting to get home to their ships. But here and there, you could see pockets of something more. People who'd lost loved ones in the escape. People who New Caprica had scarred too deeply for them to be happy. People who hadn't yet processed that they were safe, and stared around with disbelief. Burt wondered where he should go, and then finally glimpsed a pilot. He grabbed the man by the arm. "I'm looking for Santana Lopez."

The pilot looked confused. "Who?"

"Lieutenant Santana Lopez."

The man's brow furrowed, and then his eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh! Squeezebox! Yeah, I saw her over on the port side. Come on." The pilot led Burt through the crowd, threading through people deftly. "So, are you her dad or something?"

The question made Burt cringe. "Something like that, but not really."

The pilot didn't seem to care about the subtleties of Burt's answer. Instead, he kept leading Burt through the crowd, and then suddenly was up on his toes, waving. "Yo! Squeezebox! Over here!"

Santana's hair was a wild, sweaty mess from her flight helmet, she was wearing a flight suit, and when she saw them, her smile was sincere and open- an expression Burt still wasn't used to on her face. "What's going on, Hot Dog?" she asked, and then her eyes widened as she caught sight of Burt. "Mr. H!" She shoved Hot Dog aside and hugged Burt so tightly she was afraid he was going to cut off his air supply. "You made it!" She let him go, and her smile was positively radiant. "What about everybody else?"

"Kurt, Rachel, Quinn, Puck, and Lauren are all on the _Galctica_, along with some of the adults," Burt said. "Haven't seen Sam, Tina, Mike, or Schuester."

Santana frowned. "Sam? No Rya?"

"Haven't seen her either." That couldn't have been the only omission that Santana noticed. She was a sharp kid, and she probably had her ears honed for any mention of Brittany. Her eyes darted around and he could see her starting to wonder, so he reached up and slowly took off his hat. Recognition dawned in her eyes.

"No." Santana said it firmly, although she took a step back.

"I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm real sorry."

"No. No." Santana shook her head.

"She died a week before the rescue," Burt said, not knowing if it would comfort her that Brittany lived so long or tear her heart apart that it had been so close. "A bomb went off and killed her. I tried to catch her-" Burt cut that line of thought off. He'd lost a wife before- he knew that right now, Santana didn't need anyone else's grief. "I'm sorry, Santana."

"You're sorry?" Santana stared at him. Tears were already welling in her eyes. "You're _sorry_? Brittany's dead and the most you can say is you're _sorry_?"

"I'm sorry," Burt repeated, because yeah, it was the most he could say. He couldn't say he was joking or he was wrong or there was a chance Brittany would be back.

Santana struck him. It wasn't a hard blow to the face, but one to the chest. She hit him again and again, her blows increasing in frequency and slightly decreasing in strength. "You're lying!" she shouted, and people started staring. "She's not dead! She can't be!" She shouted something in Tauron, something that Burt didn't understand but her expression made clear enough. He stood there, because there was nothing else he could do, especially as she pushed him away and started crying.

"Hey! What's going on?" A good-looking pilot pushed his way through and wrapped an arm around Santana. She shoved him, but not as hard as she was capable of, and Burt realized that this must be one of her friends.

"Her girlfriend died on New Caprica," Hot Dog said when Santana didn't answer. Burt glared at him, but Hot Dog shrugged. "Narcho asked."

Narcho's didn't seem annoyed- in fact, the way he gentled made Burt think that this guy knew just how serious this really was and just how much Brittany had meant to Santana. "Come on," he said, his arm around her shoulder firming up. He looked at Burt. "I'll take it from here."

"I should-" he cut himself off. Santana was actually going with Narcho, leaning on him as she cried.

"It's okay," Hot Dog said, patting Burt's shoulder awkwardly. "They're tight. He'll take care of her. She'll probably be three sheets to the wind in about an hour, but nothing wrong with that."

"Right."

"Look," Hot Dog said, running his hand through his sweaty hair, "I hate to say this, but the deck's really crowded, and we're trying to get people settled. What ship are you trying to get to? Do you have someplace to go?"

That snapped Burt out of it and back to other things. "Not yet. They took my wife and son down to the infirmary. I should get down there."

"Yeah." Obviously relieved that there was some way he could help, Hot Dog gave Burt directions. With nothing else to do and Santana completely gone from sight, Burt started making his way through the crowd.

He didn't look at faces. Because the worst thing- the absolute worst thing was that even as he walked away from Santana and telling her about Brittany, he was starting to feel that load off his shoulders. Brittany's death haunted him, but the darkness of that couldn't drive away the fact that Kurt was safe, Carole was only hurt, and Finn was alive and whole. He wasn't sure about the rest of New Directions, but by some miracle, he still had his family. He didn't want to feel joy about that, but it was there, creeping through the cracks and threatening to break free. His pace picked up despite himself, and he hurried to the infirmary. He'd find out later if the rest of New Directions made it up, but right now, he had to see to his family.

***

"I've got a treat for you," Quinn said with a mischievous smile.

"Should I be afraid?" Kurt asked warily. "You couldn't even get me a bed." He had spent the night sleeping across three chairs, an IV of lactate and antibiotic cocktail plugged into his arm. On the bright side, the fact he didn't warrant a bed meant that he wasn't hurt as badly as others. But his back was killing him.

"This is good," Quinn said. "Come on."

Kurt stood up and followed her, grateful that he'd been spared the indignity of a hospital gown. As they made their way through the infirmary, he saw Carole. She was sitting up in bed, eating her lunch and talking to Burt. "She's going to be okay," Kurt said.

Quinn followed his gaze and smiled. "Yes. She was lucky, you know. It was a clean shot through the shoulder. She's actually being discharged today with you."

"Really?"

Quinn shrugged. "We need the beds. They'll keep an eye on her." She brightened. "I have more good news. Mercedes came down late last night while you were asleep." Kurt looked at her inquiringly, and Quinn's smile widened. "Artie contacted her. The others are all over on the _Cybele._"

That _was_ good news. "Everybody?" Kurt asked incredulously. "We all made it off?"

"Almost." At first Kurt was kicking himself because _Brittany_, but Quinn shook her head. "No one's found Rya yet. She might be on one of the other ships still, but…."

"Oh." Kurt was silent. Quinn led him to a room marked "Rehab" and opened the door. "This is my treat?" he said, curiosity overcoming concern. "Rehab?"

"Most people aren't exactly ready for rehab quite yet, which means you have the room to yourself," Quinn said primly. She nudged him over to a big metal tub, the kind they used in the locker rooms for athletes. When Kurt looked in, he could see that there were jets going, and he could feel the warmth coming up from the water inside. Quinn looked as pleased as a cat who'd just finished a big bowl of cream. "I thought you might like a hot bath."

Kurt squealed and hugged her. "You're kidding, right?" Quinn shook her head, still laughing. "No, you're not. Oh, thank you, Quinn. If there is one thing in this world I could possibly want right now…" He began shucking off his clothes, ignoring Quinn's presence, and then regarded the high sides of the narrow tub with confusion. "How do I get into this thing?"

"Here." Quinn helped him up the stool, and helped him keep his balance as he climbed in. Just as well, because when his bad toes hit the water, he couldn't stop himself from yelping with pain. But with a lot of careful maneuvering and determination he was able to wait until the pain stopped, and then he sank into the tub. The water came up to the middle of his chest, and Kurt hadn't realized just how _cold_ he still was until the warm water began to drive the bone-deep chill away.

"Just keep your bad hand out of the water, all right?" Quinn said. She inspected it. "You're lucky, you know. There was a moment when they were talking about amputating a few of the fingers." Kurt shuddered. "I'll be back for you in a half hour or so. I really need to go work."

"That's fine," Kurt murmured. He'd found a way to lean comfortably against the metal walls, and the warm bubbling water felt like heaven. He was only vaguely aware when Quinn left.

It felt so good to be warm again. Kurt's muscles began to relax, and the steam that rose up from the roiling water was opening his pores and making him sweat. It felt purifying, like he could cleanse the past few months and especially the past few weeks right out of him. He kept his mind on the warmth and off anything else.

The door opened. "Is it time already?" Kurt asked, not bothering to open his eyes. It couldn't be, could it?

"Don't fall asleep in there." The voice was not Quinn's, but it was one he knew well. Kurt sat up suddenly, sloshing water, to see Tom grinning at him. "If you drown, I'll have to find a new assistant."

"What are you doing here?" Kurt was trying to contain his shock.

"Looking for you." Tom shrugged. He was wearing a suit, right down to a tie, and his hair was neatly combed. There was an unhealed abrasion on his cheek and a few cuts, but other than that, he looked good. He pulled a chair over and sat down beside the tub. "How are you doing?"

"I'm all right."

"Good." Tom smiled, then turned serious. "I heard what you did, you know, on New Caprica."

"Who told you?"

"It's irrelevant. The point is, I'm proud of you." Tom clapped Kurt on the shoulder, ignoring the fact Kurt was naked. Kurt looked down at the water.

"You wanted me to follow you out," he said.

"I did. But it was a high expectation, and in the end, you did not surrender to the Cylons. But that's the past." It was clear from the way Tom spoke that the subject was to be dismissed. "It's time to talk about the future, and what comes next."

"And you're choosing to have this discussion while I'm in the bathtub."

Tom stared at him for a moment, then laughed. Kurt smiled back. The familiar back-and-forth rhythm of their relationship was rusty, but it was still there. Finally, Tom took a deep breath and rubbed his hands against his knees.

"Gaius Baltar never made it off New Caprica. Or, at least, he is not in this Fleet." Kurt hadn't heard that, but he nodded anyway. "As a result, as of right now, I am President of the Colonies."

Kurt's eyes widened. "President."

"Don't get too excited," Tom said with a bitter chuckle. "I've already spoken with Adama, and he's made it quite clear that anyone who stands in the way of Laura Roslin resuming the Presidency will be facing an airlock for their troubles."

"But you didn't have anything to do with the occupation!" Kurt protested. "You were in _prison_."

"Yes, a situation that I suspect our dear Admiral would like to see repeated."

"But that's ridiculous," Kurt said, the implications settling heavily on him. "I'm sure that-"

"Kurt. It's not time." Something about Tom's voice made Kurt shut up, and fast. He stilled, sinking back down into the water. "It's not time," Tom repeated. "Make no mistake, I still aspire to the Presidency, but right now, if I tried to take it by any means, it would be a disaster. And right now…." He ran a hand over his face. "I'm not sure that I have the energy for the fight."

Kurt had spent two weeks in Cylon detention. Tom had spent four months. Not much more needed to be said. "So what happens now?"

"For three days, I retain the Presidency. But we must have our pretense at legality, so I have submitted Laura Roslin's nomination as my Vice President. The Quorum is deliberating now, or at least, they were when I left. I'm sure it was a short process. Then, three days from now, I will announce that I need to step down from the Presidency. Laura will be sworn in as President of the Colonies."

Just listening to it made Kurt tired as well. "I know it's not what you want to hear, but we could do worse."

"We've done worse."

"We have." Kurt sighed. "So. President for three days, and then…."

"And then, when Laura takes the throne, she will submit _my_ nomination for the Vice Presidency. And that's why I say this is not the time. I will have a much better chance at winning an election as Laura Roslin's Vice President than I ever would as Gaius Baltar's."

Kurt nodded. "So, three days. When do I start?"

"You start three days from now."

"But-"

"Kurt." Tom leaned in and picked up Kurt's infected hand. "Look at yourself. You're not at death's door, but you're fighting infection, fever, and psychological trauma. Take three days to spend with your family and to heal. When I return to the Vice Presidency, you will return to your position. It's what you need, and there's a nice symbolism in it."

Kurt sighed with resignation. "All right."

"Trust me. It's for the best." Tom set Kurt's hand down gently, and then patted his shoulder again. "I expect you to report to _Colonial One_ at seven AM, understand?"

"I'll be there."

"Good." Tom stood up. "Take care, Kurt. I'll see you then."

"You too, Mr. President." Tom started in surprise, and Kurt smiled. "I just wanted to be able to say it once."

"It's nice to hear," Tom admitted. "I'll see you in three days." He left, shutting the door firmly behind him. Kurt sank back into the bath.

Three days wasn't enough, but it was something. Three days he could spend trying to put his head back together, spend with his father, with Finn, with Mercedes… three days where he could readjust to life inside and in the Fleet. He needed it. Three days, and then his life came back to be dealt with again. Kurt closed his eyes and leaned back against the tub. He had no idea how much longer Quinn was going to let him stay in here, but he was going to take advantage of every second.

***

Finn flew Burt, Carole, and Kurt over to the _Cybele_ in his Raptor, smiling and talking the whole time. The only one who answered him much was Mercedes, who was giving up part of her sleep shift to come over for a visit. She had a nasty burn on her cheek and neck from when the comm station had shorted during the rescue, but other than that, she had the same sort of smile that Finn did. The smile that meant that New Caprica was over, and everything was well. Burt wished he could believe that.

Zarek had said something that really bothered him when he'd come to see Kurt. "There's a lot of anger," he told Burt. "And a lot of people looking for vengeance. Not everyone knows what Kurt did on New Caprica yet, but a lot of them know he worked for the Cylons. Keep your son very close to you for the next three days." There was steel in Zarek's voice as he said it, and Burt didn't dare argue. But the idea that people might be looking for Kurt's blood bothered him deeply.

Tyrol had approached him before they left, too. "You could consider enlisting," he'd said. "Frankly, I need all the guys I can get, and you know your way around an engine."

"Not a spacecraft engine," Burt had said. He pushed his hands in his pocket. "Truth is, I don't know how well I'm cut out for military life."

"What are you talking about? You did great on New Caprica. Besides, you'd be on my crew." Galen gestured at the landing bay. "No blowing stuff up."

"I'll think about it," Burt had said, and that had pacified Galen for now. But Burt had the feeling that he was going to give in, but not quite yet. He'd thought about setting his shop up again, but it wasn't going to happen. Not without Brittany.

The _Cybele_ came into view, and Finn landed the Raptor in the tiny docking bay. The bay didn't look much different than it had when they'd left to go down to New Caprica over a year ago. The same was true of the corridors as they made their way up.

Burt had thought that they'd be going to the lounge upstairs, but he supposed he wasn't really all that surprised when Mercedes led them to the yellow door that marked the old New Directions room. He paused for a moment, looking at each handprint in turn, and placing his own hand over Brittany's. Then Mercedes opened the door, and the group was overwhelming. As soon as he walked in, he was attacked. Tina, Mike, Sam, and Schuester were all there with the rest of the kids, and Artie was grinning as well. Even Santana had come over, her legs curled under her as she sat on the empty board that had once served as Brittany's bunk. As they came in, the kids burst into applause for a reason Burt didn't understand. But then, they were all together again, or as together again as they'd ever be. He supposed that was reason enough for celebration.

***

They couldn't all stay in the same room for too long. It felt too crowded, and besides, New Directions wouldn't be New Directions if they didn't start quarreling right away. When Burt had slipped away, the argument had had something to do with what songs they should sing for the reunion show that Rachel insisted would be happening. Now he found himself in the empty cargo room that had once been his workshop, sitting on the floor and rummaging through a small sack.

The door opened, but the intruder didn't retreat when she saw the room wasn't occupied. Burt looked up. "Hey."

"Hey." Santana stepped in. She looked uncomfortable, and Burt sighed.

"You want me to leave?"

"No." Santana shook her head. "I actually came here because I thought you might be here."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Santana took a deep breath and pulled herself up. "Look. I'm sorry that I freaked out on you when you told me about Brittany."

"Nothing to apologize for."

Santana was obviously trying not to cry as she inclined her head. "I was angry."

"Can't say I blame you. I was angry too."

"I don't want to hear about your first wife."

"I'm not talking about my first wife. I'm talking about Brit." There was plenty of room, but Burt moved over anyway. "Want to sit?"

Santana hesitated, and then shrugged and sat down. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever." She didn't sit close enough to touch Burt, but she did sit close enough to look at the pictures he'd spread out on the floor. She leaned forward and picked up one of her and the girls celebrating her promotion to lieutenant, and a small smile played on her lips.

"Did I tell you I made it past junior lieutenant?" she said. "I'm a regular old lieutenant now."

"Congratulations."

Santana's eyes were still on the picture, and her smile was fond and teary. "I wish I could tell her stuff like that, you know? She never cared much about the military, but I would have liked to tell her anyway." She sniffled and wiped her nose on her hand. Burt fished through the sack and came up with a rag, and Santana took it. "She always listened," Santana said. "No matter what. If I had something to say, she listened."

Burt nodded. "She loved you," was the most he could think of to say. "I mean, I know you know that," he added hastily. "In fact, I think anyone who ever heard her talk about you would know that. Brittany didn't hide her feelings much."

"Not the good ones, anyway," Santana said. She picked up another picture, one of Brittany and Mike together, both of them smiling. "She was excited about the baby, you know."

"I know." Burt fished through and found one of the pictures taken on New Caprica, with Brittany holding baby Blaine. "Did you see this one?"

They sat on for close to an hour, talking about Brittany and sharing the pictures. Burt hadn't expected to find this kind of peace coming in here, and he wasn't sure if Santana had, either. But in the end it felt like their own private funeral for the girl who'd died, and unlike the actual funeral, this one comforted Burt and made him feel like Brittany would always be remembered, and some part of her would always go on.

"You said you tried to stop her from dying," Santana said after they'd gone through all the pictures. "What did you mean?"

Burt sighed. "At the end there, they- _we_- were using suicide bombers. Seemed to be the only thing that could set the Cylons back on their heels. Brittany was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's all. I saw the bomber and I tried to get her out of there."

Santana pressed her lips together and nodded. In reality, if the counts Burt was hearing were to be believed, they were lucky. Over two thousand people had died on New Caprica, during the occupation, and during the exodus. Two thousand people, and New Directions had only lost Brittany- Brittany and Rya, he amended. The way Santana hugged her knees to her and buried her face in them, he thought she might be thinking the same thing. Couldn't complain, because it was only one person. Just… the one person she couldn't bear to lose.

Brittany and Rya. Burt hadn't thought of it so much when he was sitting in his old workshop with Santana, but it really occurred to him afterwards, when slid into bed beside Carole late that night. He was about to comment on not having their own room anymore when Carole spoke first. "Did you talk to Sam at all tonight?"

"Sam? No, I spent most of it with Santana. What's going on with Sam?" Carole didn't answer right away, and Burt propped himself up on one elbow. "Carole? What's going on?"

"It's Rya. She's definitely not on any of the manifests that have been released so far."

A chill passed through Burt. "You think she could be somewhere in the Fleet still?"

Carole shook her head. "There was a whole group of people that they broke out of the prison. Most of them got onto the _Astral Queen._ None of them remember seeing Rya."

"Frak." Burt fell back down onto the pillow. "How's Sam?"

"How do you think?" Carole was sympathetic. "It's going to be hard on him, Burt."

Burt sighed. "I know. Does he want a funeral?"

"Not yet. He's still hoping." Carole laid down and snuggled against Burt's shoulder. "Everyone thinks New Caprica is over, don't they?"

"I think so."

"It's not. Not for some people."

Burt glanced over at Carole. He could see her profile in the dim light that snuck in through the cracks in the privacy curtains. "I know. It's not over for any of us."

They lay silently in the dark together, the legacy of New Caprica hanging over their heads until sleep took them both.

***

Kurt had been back at work for two days when he got the summons to appear at the President's office. He obeyed, of course, but he was confused, especially when he stood in front of Roslin's desk and saw her tight smile.

"You're Kurt Hummel." Laura Roslin gestured graciously to the seat in front of her desk. "Please. Have a seat."

"Thank you." Kurt sat quickly, smoothing his sweater down nervously. President Roslin was watching him curiously, and it made him nervous, especially when she didn't speak. "I'm sorry, ma'am," Kurt said, when the silence became too much. "I have no idea what you want with me. Did I do something wrong?"

President Roslin smiled at him. "You worked for the administration during the occupation," she said deliberately. "And from what I understand, you worked for the Resistance as well."

"Yes…."

"That puts you in a unique position." President Roslin folded her hands on her desk. "A position where I suspect you can appreciate that not everyone responds to adversity in the way that they might initially envision."

"I guess so." Kurt was still lost. He was pretty sure Roslin knew it, too, especially as she sat back, regarding him with a measuring glance.

"I'm sure that you've heard that in addition to granting full pardon to all collaborators, I've called for the formation of a Committee on Truth and Reconciliation, in order to record the stories of New Caprica for posterity."

"Yes." He remembered hearing that speech. He'd breathed a little easier that night. "And you want me to tell my story?"

"Yes, but more importantly, I want you to be on that Committee. To serve as a witness to what our people endured on New Caprica."

It wasn't really a request, but Kurt didn't mind. He nodded. "I'd be honored."

"Good." President Roslin smiled. "I've already discussed it with the Vice President. The first meeting is tomorrow, down in conference room C. Good luck, Mr. Hummel, and I look forward to reading your reports."

***

Two weeks later, Kurt's pen lay on his pad, note-taking forgotten. He sat on the hard metal chair in the conference room on _Galactica_, staring open-mouthed at the man sitting in the center of the room.

"When did you decide to turn information over to the Resistance?" The questioner was a woman in her thirties who had to keep adjusting glasses that were no longer her prescription. The person she was questioning was Felix Gaeta, sitting in front of the Committee on Truth and Resolution, wearing duty blues and telling his story.

"It's why I stayed in my job." Gaeta was sitting perfectly straight, on the edge of his seat, his hands folded neatly between his knees. Despite the textbook posture, he looked like he wanted to bolt. Kurt didn't blame him. Gaeta cleared his throat. "As soon as Gaiu- as President Baltar surrendered to the Cylons, I knew that we would need every advantage we could get.

"When did you start giving the Resistance information?" The military representative on the Committee was a man named Lieutenant Hoshi, and he spoke with an even gentleness that was in direct contrast with his uniform.

"It took several months," Gaeta admitted, focusing on Hoshi. It was clear there was a friendship there. "It took a long time to gain the Cylons' trust and access to the kind of information I needed. I had to…" he swallowed, and then looked directly at Kurt, as if Kurt was some sort of lifeline, "I had to do things that… that I didn't want to do. I had to collaborate. It was the only way."

The story continued to come out. How he'd worked to fit into the Cylon administration, and how he'd begun to steal information. How a priest had helped him set up a dead drop, but that priest died in the evacuation, and Gaeta had had no idea who he was communicating with. All the information he'd gotten, from names of people who were detained to the NCP graduation security plans to the jamming frequencies that allowed the Resistance to make contact with the _Galactica_. And only alluded to, how some people on _Galactica_ had believed he was a traitor so thoroughly there'd already been an attempt on his life.

About halfway through the story, Kurt gave up even trying to write, and it took all of his energy not to bury his face in his hands. He felt Gaeta's eyes on him as he talked, and all he could imagine was every last terrible thing he'd ever thought about Gaeta. When the story ended, he sat in his chair, completely wrecked. He couldn't even look at the man in front of him.

The session ended, and one by one most of the committee filed out, until only Gaeta, Kurt, and Hoshi were left in the room. Gaeta looked at Hoshi.

"Would you mind giving us a moment, Louis?"

Hoshi didn't look happy about it, but he nodded and gathered up his own things. Kurt sat on in his chair, staring at Gaeta. But when the door closed behind Hoshi, Gaeta didn't speak.

"So all that time," Kurt finally said, "you were a spy."

Gaeta nodded.

"And when you told me you had no idea what I was messing up-"

Gaeta sighed. "I knew what you were trying to do," he said. "I know you don't believe it, but I respected you for it. But yes- having the Cylons know someone was trying to gain information did have a way of making them raise their guard."

"And then you told them not to question me."

"I'm sorry," Gaeta said suddenly. "About getting you put into detention. It was that or let them shoot you."

Kurt nodded. "I know." Because now, here in the safe, sterile conference room light years from New Caprica, it was burningly clear. "You saved my life. Twice, at least."

Gaeta looked away. "I know detention was hard-"

"It was. I hated you." Kurt felt like he owed Gaeta that honesty. "But standing where I am today… thank you. I mean it."

Gaeta nodded stiffly. Not with hate, Kurt realized, but because he didn't know how to react. Kurt wished he could say so much more, but he had no idea where to even begin, or really, what else even needed to be said. He found himself standing up.

"Well," he began, as awkward as Gaeta had been. He extended his hand. "Thank you."

Gaeta took his hand with deliberate gentleness. "You're welcome." They didn't drop hands, but stood facing each other awkwardly. Kurt wasn't sure what was supposed to happen next. Gaeta didn't seem like the kind of person you hugged, and more than that, there was a lot of history between them that had nothing to do with the Cylons. A lot of history that seemed petty and insignificant now.

"I should go," Kurt said.

"I should, too."

Neither of them moved.

Kurt didn't know what prompted it- maybe it was a slight change in Gaeta's expression, maybe it was something in his own mind, but he found himself closing the distance between them and hugging Gaeta tightly. At first Gaeta was stiff with surprise, but then his hands came to rest on Kurt's back, and they stood together for a very long time. Kurt was quietly crying when he pulled away.

"You know," Gaeta said, smiling a crooked, sad smile, "you really did make a terrible spy."

"I've heard that before," Kurt said, wiping his eyes on the cuff of his sleeve. "You made an amazing one."

Gaeta closed his eyes. "Thanks," he said quietly.

There wasn't much more to say. Kurt picked up his things, and they walked out together in silence. But the silence between them was comfortable for once, and for the first time, Kurt wondered what might have been if things had gone just a little differently. He walked with Gaeta down to the docking bay.

As soon as they entered, Hoshi came over to Gaeta's side. There was a protective air about him, and even an idiot could see what was happening there. Kurt couldn't help smiling a little, especially as Hoshi put a hand on Gaeta's shoulder. He winked, and Gaeta smiled back.

"You ready to go?" Kurt turned to see Finn smiling at him, suited up and waiting by his Raptor. "Come on," Finn said, putting his own hand on Kurt's shoulder. "It's time for you to go home."

"I know." Kurt glanced back over his shoulder to see Gaeta still watching him, a little smile playing on his own face. Kurt lifted his hand and waved goodbye, and Gaeta waved back. Finn's hand tightened on Kurt's shoulder, and Hoshi put his arm around Gaeta's. Finn was right- Gaeta was back in the uniform, Kurt was back in Tom's office. Despite all the unhealed wounds, they were both back where they belonged. It could only get better from here.


	11. Something To Be Proud Of

"He's a Cylon! Get him!"

Answering shrieks pierced the air, and Mike went down as someone jumped on his back. Another enthusiastic attacker grabbed his arm, and someone sat on his legs. "Kill the Cylon!" He was bludgeoned with a teddy bear, so he started twitching, making his best choking-on-my-own-tongue dying noises. Finally, he flopped his hands down, closed his eyes and lay still.

"KILL THE CYLON!"

"Wait!" Mike rolled to the side just in time to avoid a particularly vicious blow. "I'm already dead!"

Jacob, the five-year-old leader of the Resistance, stared at Mike suspiciously, teddy bear at the ready. "Then why are you talking?"

"Why am I talking?"

"Yeah. If you're dead, you shouldn't be talking."

"He's dead," Jacob's right-hand-girl Muna said. "If Mike says he's dead, he's dead."

"But he's _talking_."

Mike grinned. "That's because… I resurrected!" He jumped to his feet and growled, the delighted Resistance squealed and ran again, and the battle was on.

The PA system squawked, and Artie's voice came on the line. "Condition One has been set throughout the Fleet," he announced. "Prepare to jump."

The Cylons had found them for real. The kids all went still, the fun immediately draining out of the game. Mike looked across the room to where Tina was occupied feeding Blaine, and she smiled grimly at him. He smiled back, and then scooped up Tara, the smallest of his pursuers. "Come on, guys. Let's read our book, shall we?" The kids pressed a little closer to him, and Mike had a hard time not stumbling as he walked to his chair.

The book was one that he and Tina had put together the first time around, when they'd had an entire nursery of kids, not just five. They'd found pictures of various military members and space crafts, and put together stories of heroism and bravery. The book had been required every Cylon attack for the first few months, but gradually, the kids had gotten used to it. After all, when the ships jumped, nothing really happened until the _Galactica_ jumped back into formation. They knew they were safe. This time, with the memories of New Caprica in their minds, safety didn't seem so guaranteed.

He settled Tara on his lap. Jacob claimed one side and Muna the other, and there was enough room for Linmei and Peter at his feet. Mike could feel Jacob shaking, and as he opened the book he managed to get one hand free to stroke his hair. He made his voice even more gentle and calm as he read the book.

The minutes ticked by. Mike finished the book and smoothly flipped back to the beginning and started it again. Tina finished feeding Blaine, but rather than setting him down to crawl around, she cradled him against her, rocking him back and forth as she listened to Mike read.

Mike found his gaze lingering on a picture of a Viper pilot. It was strange to think that Santana was just climbing out of her Viper (he hoped), and that the others- what _did_ the others do during an attack? He looked at the kids. Not reading, that was for sure. He pushed the thought out of his head, especially as Jacob snuggled closer.

Finally, the PA system crackled to life again. "Condition Three has been set throughout the Fleet." Mike and Tina exchanged relieved glances. Mike hadn't realized how tense his shoulders were until he sighed, setting the book down slowly and letting all of the air out of his lungs. The kids relaxed a little, too, but most of them stayed nestled firmly against Mike's sides, except Muna, who immediately capitalized on the fact that Tina had a free hand and went over to cuddle against her. The kids' faces were all drawn and worried, and Mike was quite sure there would be a few nightmares tonight.

He began singing, starting low and slow. Tina joined in, her clear voice carrying the melody of a simple, soothing lullaby. The music worked, and a few songs later they gradually started singing more cheerful songs. Another ritual they'd been using for over two years, bringing the kids out of their fear through music. By the end, the kids were happy to play again, although the game of Mike the Cylon was avoided and they settled down to a board game missing half the original pieces instead.

"Is Blaine okay?" Mike asked Tina when he had a moment.

"Blaine's fine. He's too young to understand what's going on," Tina said, and is if to illustrate her point, Blaine decided to try to pull himself up using his father's pants for support. When Mike looked down, Blaine was bouncing at the knees and gurgling up at him triumphantly. "I'm glad," Tina continued, smiling down at their son. "I don't look forward to the day we have to explain what 'set Condition One throughout the Fleet' means."

"Maybe we won't have to," Mike said hopefully. "Maybe we'll have found Earth by then."

"Hope so." Tina smiled at him then moved towards the table. "All right! It's just about time for a snack! Everybody line up to wash their hands."

Reading the book, singing the songs, some play time and snack. Just like every other Cylon attack, just like most afternoons. It was comforting in some way to be here with these kids and know that life still went on.

***

Without a doubt, Blaine was the most beautiful thing Mike had ever seen. He had round cheeks, big dark eyes, a thick thatch of dark hair, and soft, smooth skin, and when he smiled, he had the most adorable dimples ever. He was perfect. He was also now mobile, and that made him a force to be reckoned with.

"Where you going, buddy?" Mike caught Blaine before he pulled up to grab a shiny tube. "Kurt had better learn to keep his goop out of the way, or he's going to find you finger painting with it on the walls." He tossed the rescued tube up onto Kurt's bunk, which was a second level bunk and well out of Blaine's reach. Then he found a more appropriate toy and dangled it in Blaine's reach. Blaine duly ignored it and started groping his way along the bed, undoubtedly headed for something else dangerous. Mike sighed. This room was not the easiest place to keep track of his son. But the daycare was closed for the day, and this was one of his few options.

Mike had just gotten Blaine settled for a nap in their bunk when the door slammed open and Artie and Rachel came through. "I'm just saying," Artie said, "that it's going to be even harder to get everybody together now. It's not like it was before."

"Nonsense," Rachel said, dismissing Artie's concern with a wave of her hand. "Everyone is going to want to do it."

"It's not about wanting to do it," Artie said with an exasperated sigh. "It's that none of us are in the same position that we were a year ago. Even you! You're not just doing little fluff pieces at two in the morning."

"And that's why we're getting this opportunity- because I'm not a nobody anymore. They listen to me now, Artie."

"No, it's because there's some political agenda, and they want a message of togetherness and hope. That's _always_ when they have us sing."

Mike's ears perked up. "Someone wants us to sing again?"

"Yes." Rachel glared at Artie with a _see?_ sort of expression, and then looked up at Mike. "I got a call from Ms. Foster. President Roslin's aide."

"And President Roslin's not asking us to sing for political reasons at all," Artie muttered.

Rachel ignored him. "They're doing a special tribute."

"To us?" Mike asked, confused.

"Not to us," Artie said. "A special 'hey, it's been a couple of months since New Caprica' thing."

"They're not calling it that," Rachel said primly. "It's a Colonial Day special."

A Colonial Day special. Right. "So a special 'hey, it's been a couple of months since New Caprica' thing," Mike said to Artie. Rachel stomped her foot in frustration, but smiled when Mike shrugged and said, "I'm definitely in."

"I knew you would be. See?" she said, turning to Artie. "I told you!"

"Mike's not the one I was worried about," Artie said, completely unconvinced. "It's the others. Santana's a full lieutenant, Mercedes is a petty officer and in the CIC, Finn's on duty all the time, and Lauren's on a tight leash for a while as a new Marine. Kurt's the aide to the _Vice President_, not a Quorum member, Quinn's handling a lot of cases on her own, you've moved up the press corps, and I'm-"

"Practically the _Cybele_ co-captain, I've heard it," Rachel said with a weary sigh.

"Right. So Mike and Tina were the least of our worries."

"Hey," Mike said, trying to ignore the pang that that comment gave him, "we've got a baby, remember?"

Artie didn't miss a beat. "Right. Rachel, it was hard enough to get us all together before New Caprica. Now it's going to be next to impossible. And we don't have costumes anymore, or anything to make them from. And I'm the only one who still has a guitar."

"We'll see," Rachel said, as if none of that mattered. "We'll be singing at Colonial Day again. Just you wait."

***

No one was as determined as Rachel Berry when she wanted to get her way. Within a week, objections had been steam-rolled and New Directions was finally able to get both a rehearsal room and the entire group present. It also took all of ten minutes for the discussion about their set list to descend into a squabble over who was singing what. It was kind of like tradition and Mike wasn't going to have any sort of solo anyway (not that he minded, really), so instead of listening to the battle, he sat down on the floor next to Sam. Sam was watching with that same _I'd rather not deal with this_ expression that Mike was feeling.

"Even after New Caprica, Rachel, Mercedes, Kurt, and Santana still duke it out for the solos," Sam said. "I can't decide if it's depressing that nothing's changed, or if I'm glad."

"If it hasn't changed by now, it never will." Mike would never admit that it was actually comforting. "So how've you been? I haven't seen you much since we got back up here."

"It's crazy, man," Sam said, leaning back on his hands. "There's some big problems on the _Daru Mozu._ They thought they could get some of the line equipment back up, but it got damaged during the exodus from New Caprica. It might have to be shut down, or transitioned over to something besides tylium refining. Carole's been trying to convince them to turn it into a recycling line, and I think she's right, but it's crazy."

"That sucks." Mike chewed on his lip for a minute, not sure of how to phrase it, and then dove in anyway. "Listen, Tina and I were wondering… have you given any more thought to having a funeral for Rya?"

Sam's face hardened. "No."

"It's just that with her parents dead there's no one else and she really-"

"No." Sam cut him off with more force. Mike wondered just how far he should push. On the one hand, Sam's refusal was… well, it was kind of creepy. They'd been off New Caprica for over two months, and Rya really deserved a proper burial. On the other hand, if it was Mike and he was mourning Tina, maybe he'd be doing the same thing? He really didn't know. So he bit his tongue, because it was really clear Sam didn't want to argue about it. Even though Mike thought he might really need to.

"Yo." Puck sat down in between Sam and Mike, conveniently cutting off any further conversation. "Where's the Blainster?"

"I left him with Burt. Can you get over to the _Cybele_ after this? He'd love to see you."

"No can do. I've got duty. Which brings me to my next question." Puck draped his arms around Mike's and Sam's shoulders. "When are you guys getting your asses over to the _Galactica_?"

Sam groaned and shoved Puck's arm off. "Give it up, Puck. I'm not enlisting. They wouldn't take me anyway, all right?"

"Why not? You'd be awesome!" Puck pounded Sam's bicep.

"I'd be terrible." Sam glanced over his shoulder. "I'm going to go catch up with Artie." He staggered to his feet and headed off without so much as a backward glance.

"What crawled up his ass?" Puck asked.

Mike shrugged. "He just lost his wife. That could make anyone cranky."

"Yeah, but they only got married because of that pregnancy thing," Puck said, still watching Sam.

Mike sighed irritably. "I keep telling you it wasn't like that at all. And even if it was, Sam's still upset."

"Yeah, I know." Puck waved it off. "Besides, it's you I don't get. You've got a wife and a kid that you love. You should be on the front lines."

Mike looked over at Tina, who was standing next to Mercedes and arguing with Rachel and Finn. She was flushed and irritated, but when she caught Mike watching her, she flashed a quick smile. He smiled back. "I've got a job, Puck," he said finally.

Puck snorted. "Watching kids."

"Yes."

"So? There are like a million teenage girls who could do that shit."

"Really?" Mike was used to Puck being obtuse, but this kind of took the cake.

Puck realized what he'd said, too, and heaved a huge sigh as he rolled his eyes. "Okay, so not a million, but you know what I mean. Lots of people can do that."

Mike shrugged. "Lots of people can fire guns, too."

"I'm just saying-"

"All right!" Quinn's voice interrupted them, rising above the general squabbling. "So we'll open with 'My Love Is Your Love' and we'll close with 'We Are Young', and we'll work the middle song out when everyone doesn't have superior officers breathing down their necks. Is that acceptable?"

"Why aren't you bugging _her_ to be in the military?" Mike asked Puck.

"You think I want her as my superior officer? You know she would be, and then my life would be hell." Puck got to his feet and reached down to give Mike a hand up. "Look, just think about it, okay? We really could use you."

"I'll think about it," Mike muttered. Puck grinned widely and punched him in the arm, and Mike tried to smile back. Puck had been taking like this since the attacks first happened- he should be used to this by now. So why did he feel so uncertain all of a sudden?

***

"The thing is," he told Tina later that night as he picked up the nursery, "Puck's got a point."

"No he doesn't," Tina said, not looking up from the paperwork she was doing. Blaine was sleeping on a pile of blankets near her feet.

"Yes he does. Ever since we got back on the ships and everyone got shifted around, there's only six kids on the _Cybele_." He looked around at the room they were using as a daycare. It wasn't the same room they'd used before New Caprica, and there were even fewer toys and no climbing bars. All of that stuff had been left on the planet.

"I know." Tina sighed and put her pen down. "I was kind of meaning to talk to you about that." Mike's stomach twisted into knots, and he raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement. Tina went on. "I've been thinking… maybe we should look into moving ships."

That surprised Mike. "Moving ships?"

"Moving ships. Look… I know all our friends are here, and I don't like the idea either. But like you said, there are six kids on this ship, and one of them is ours. We could apply to work in one of the bigger daycares, and maybe we could even get better quarters." She bit her lip and twisted her pen. "It would hurt, but it might be best for Blaine."

Mike sighed, turning a doll over in his hands. "I don't know…."

"I know we might not be able to, and that our application might be rejected. But we should consider our options."

"Well," Mike didn't want to say it, but he _had_ to, "if we're talking about options, what about me serving on the _Galactica_?"

"Just because Puck suggested it?" Tina asked skeptically. "Puck's always thought that everyone has to join the military."

"Not just because of that. Just because Puck said it doesn't mean that it's not true. I mean, why should I not be serving? Finn's out there. So's Puck."

"And Mercedes and Santana," Tina added firmly. "But everyone else isn't." She stood up and came over and wrapped her arms around Mike. "Look. If you want to serve in the military, let's talk about it. I'm not crazy about the idea, but I can accept it, if it's something _you_ feel you need to do. But don't let Puck guilt you into it. I don't know if the military needs you, but I do know that Blaine and I do."

Mike kissed her. "Thanks," he said holding her close. "That helped."

"I'm glad." Tina smiled then detangled herself from his embrace and went back to her work. Mike turned back to cleaning up the nursery. Not because he was so eager for the work, but because he didn't want Tina to see that he was lying.

***

It should have been quieter tonight in the New Directions room. They were down to eleven people living there, thirteen on the rare times that Carole and Sam were off the _Daru Mozu_. But eleven was still a lot of people making noise. And whenever someone moved the framework of the bunks shook. They'd all gotten used to it before New Caprica, but after a year in their own tents, it was a lot harder to deal with.

Tonight Burt was thrashing in his sleep. Mike lay on his back, staring up at the bunk above him, praying desperately that Blaine would sleep through this. It didn't look promising; Blaine was already starting to stir. Mike glanced over and saw Tina's open eyes reflecting the scant light. He sighed and she shrugged, an unspoken communication that they were going to have a long night.

There was a soft thud as Kurt slid out of an upper bunk and landed on the floor. He crept over to where Burt was sleeping and gingerly reached out a hand. Although everyone who was awake expected it, Burt's shout when Kurt touched him still startled them all. It certainly startled Blaine out of his restless sleep and into a bout of crying. Mike sighed, scooped him up, and began walking the floor, bouncing him and trying to calm him down.

"Kurt?" Burt's eyes were wild and disoriented, but Kurt knelt down in front of him.

"I'm here, Dad," he said softly, taking Burt by the arms. "I'm here."

Mike looked away. Nightmares were pretty common again ever since New Caprica, and Burt, Kurt, and Sam seemed to be the worst. Mike could handle Kurt and Sam, but watching Burt come undone unnerved him, and watching Kurt comfort his father just seemed too… personal. He focused on Blaine, trying to get him to calm down.

The noise was too much for Quinn, and she sat up. "I don't mean to be rude," she said, in a voice that implied anything but, "but I have surgery tomorrow morning. Would it be possible to keep it down?" Her glare was like ice, and Mike couldn't really blame her. He nodded sheepishly and took Blaine out into the hall. The lights out there only made Blaine cry more, but at least he could walk him further down or to the bathrooms, where he'd disturb fewer people.

It took a half hour for Blaine to calm down enough that Mike thought he'd go back to sleep. By the time he returned to the New Directions room, Kurt and Burt were gone, Mr. Schuester was arguing with Sue, Tina was tearfully apologizing to Quinn for the disturbance, and Artie was trying to sleep with his pillow over his head. Coach Beiste managed to stay asleep, or maybe she was just really good at faking it. Mike wouldn't blame her.

He slid back into bed, Blaine on his lap, and waited for the others to finally realize it was still three in the morning and it was time to go back to sleep. It took a good twenty minutes for everyone to reach that conclusion, except for Kurt and Burt, who were still missing. Tina slid in, and it was another twenty minutes before Blaine fell back asleep, cuddled in between them. Mike wanted to sleep, but he knew that there were only a couple of hours now before he had to be up. He sighed and tried to get comfortable, knowing that deep sleep was a lost cause. Like it was so many nights these days.

Tina was right. It might be time to start thinking about somewhere else. And even though he didn't like thinking about it, he wasn't going to rule out _Galactica_ in his search.

***

The next rehearsal for Colonial Day started out better than the first. Mercedes had managed to find them a storage bay on _Galactica_, which meant that she, Puck, Finn, Santana, and Lauren could stay for an extra half-hour. They had a set list. And although Mike and Tina had had to bring Blaine with them, Puck had confiscated him so quickly that they might as well have been without him.

As Mercedes and Artie ran through the beginning of their song, Mike started mapping out some of the basic choreography. That was when it hit him. No Brittany. The realization made him sit down in the middle of the room. He'd been at Brittany's funeral, he'd known she was dead for over two months now, but all of a sudden, it just hit him hard.

"Mike?" Tina asked. "Are you okay?"

He nodded, mainly because he wasn't sure if he should say anything. If everyone else was moving on, wasn't it better to let them? The others all went back to the song, and Mike took a deep breath. This wasn't the time or place to think about it. He got himself under control and stood up, starting again with the choreography and forcing himself to think only of dancing.

He was showing the steps to Kurt and Santana when the door opened. Both of them snapped to attention. Mike looked curiously to see who had entered, and immediately straightened up himself. Laura Roslin didn't announce her presence. It took a minute for the others to realize that she was there, finally solidified by someone whispering, "It's the President, idiot!" and whacking Puck upside the head. Silence fell over the room, with some people at strict attention and others just standing respectfully, uncertain of what to do.

"Don't stop on my account," President Roslin said, smiling. "I love hearing all of you sing." She leaned against the wall, making it clear that they were to continue.

Rachel recovered first. "All right," she said. "Let's take it from the top!" She glanced at Roslin for permission, and Roslin nodded slightly.

It was nerve-wracking to sing for just the President, especially since they were all aware that they were being evaluated. Mike knew they shouldn't be nervous- what the President was looking for was her own message and agenda- but it was still impossible not to be extremely aware of the fact that she was in the room. He was very conscious of his dancing in a way that he hadn't been in years, but overall, the songs went well.

"It's still very rough," Rachel said hastily as soon as the last note faded. "We will be working on it more, and I assure you it will be up to the quality that you expect from us and-"

"It was lovely," President Roslin said, smiling slightly. She looked at the assembled group, her smile fading. "What happened to the blonde girl? The one that could really dance?"

Rachel swallowed. "She died, ma'am. On New Caprica."

"Because of a suicide bomber," Santana added bitterly.

Roslin winced. "I'm terribly sorry to hear that. She was a marvelous dancer, and I'm sure it must be a loss for you all."

Santana lifted her chin, her eyes flashing. "You were in the Resistance, weren't you?"

President Roslin met Santana's angry gaze. "Yes." The word was obviously difficult for her. "And while we did what we had to do, that does not mean that what we did was inherently right." A spasm of emotion crossed her face, and made Mike wonder just how _she_ felt about those suicide bombers. But she regained her composure. "What was her name?"

"Brittany Pierce."

"I see." Roslin turned to face all of New Directions. "The bond of loss is one that we all share. We have all lost loved ones on this journey, and we continue to mourn them. As much as I want this Colonial Day celebration to focus on the future and on hope, it would be remiss of me to ignore the past. I think it would be lovely if, in your numbers, you included some sort of tribute for Brittany."

"I'm sure we can do that, Madame President," Rachel began. "We have several songs that suit the occasion." Santana didn't speak up, but Mike saw the glare she shot at Rachel. Roslin either missed it or ignored it, and with a beatific smile, left the room and headed to wherever on _Galactica_ she was going.

"Well," Rachel said, clapping her hands together, "looks like we need to add another number."

"Santana, are you even comfortable with that?" Kurt asked. "I know how difficult it can be to sing about someone you love in front of everyone."

"Yeah, if you're not comfortable with it, we can work something out," Sam said.

Santana looked back and forth between them, and an expression of disgust started spreading across her features. "Don't even think about it."

Kurt cocked his head. "Don't even think about what?"

"Don't even think about making me part of your happy little widows' club," Santana said.

"What happy little widows' club?" Kurt asked, his hackles rising.

"Yeah." Sam's eyes narrowed and his expression tightened. "I'm not a widow."

"Oh, please. Rya is just as dead as Brittany and Blaine." Santana started gathering her things together. "And the last thing I need is to be moping around with you two, figuring out the perfect song to sob into our handkerchiefs on television. I am _not_ doing that in front of the entire Fleet."

Rachel stepped in between them. "If you don't want to sing for Brittany, I'd be honored to do it, Santana."

"I'll bet you would." Santana finished shoving her towel into a bag and then flung it over her shoulder. "Frak you all. I'm out of here." She stormed out, leaving silence behind her. Everyone stared at the door, unsure of what to do or what to say.

"Guess we're done," Sam said. He looked just as grim as Santana as he turned to Rachel. "Tell me when you figure out what that song is going to be so I can learn my part."

"You could sing-"

"No." Sam headed out the door as well.

The joy went out of the rehearsal completely. Rachel still argued about how the show must go on, but everyone else started packing up their things. Mike headed over to where Tina was packing her own bag and knelt down. "Are you planning on arguing this out with Rachel for a bit?" he asked her softly.

"Is it worth it?" Tina shrugged, which wasn't much of an answer. "The bigger argument is going to be getting Blaine back from Puck. I thought I'd handle that. Are you going to find Sam?"

"No. But there was something else I wanted to do."

"I'll make sure Finn doesn't fly us out without you." Tina tipped her face up and kissed him.

Civilians weren't supposed to wander around the upper decks of the _Galactica_ unescorted, so Mike asked Mercedes to take him to the wall he'd heard about but never seen. It wasn't just a wall- it was an entire hallway, completely filled with pictures. Mercedes led Mike to the right spot and then tactfully disappeared, saying she had duty. Mike stood alone, looking at the picture of Brittany.

It was set among other faces he knew- Blaine, Ms. Pillsbury, and Mercedes' family- and it was a good picture of her. It was taken sometime before the attacks and at school, so Brittany was in her cheerleader's uniform with her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She was sitting in the choir room, smiling. She looked a lot younger than Mike's most recent memories of her. Lima and Gemenon and McKinley seemed so long ago. Mike reached up and touched the picture.

"You know, you can't feel her boobs through the picture, Boy Chang. Not that I blame you for trying."

Mike yanked his hand back. "Hey, Santana. I'm sorry- I didn't know you were here. I can go."

"Why should you? You were here first." Santana stood beside him and looked up at the picture. "Telling you to get the frak out of here would be like telling you to get the frak out of a cemetery. Even I have limits."

Mike nodded, completely unsure what to say to that. Santana didn't seem to require an answer. "You okay?" he asked finally. "You looked mad in there."

"Of course I'm mad," Santana scoffed. "This tribute thing is going to end up one big pile of bullshit." She sighed at Mike's questioning look. "Look, I get it. A lot of people have been screwed over, and I know that. And I'm sad and pissed off that Brit's dead." Her face spasmed a little on the word. "But I don't want to turn her death into some big symbol for the Fleet, and that's what it's going to be. You've got the hobbit dying to get in there and make her constipated faces as she wails out some over the top diva song that Brittany would have been snickering at in the back of the classroom. You've got Lady Hummel and Trouty Mouth, both of whom are singing about the loves of _their_ lives."

"It's your solo," Mike said. "You could do it the way you want to." He looked back at the picture again. "How do you want to do it?"

"I don't know. Paint the whole stage cotton candy pink or something. Have a bunch of kittens up there. Unicorns and glitter. Anything but me standing in the middle of a stage crying my eyes out. What would you do?"

"I thought about dancing," Mike said, "but it just doesn't feel right without her."

Santana stared at him openmouthed for a moment. "That wasn't what I meant. I meant if it was Tina."

"Oh."

Santana kept staring at him, and Mike shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. Finally, she reached a decision. "You'll sing it with me," she ordered.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you," Santana said, her voice matter-of-fact. "We'll do a duet."

"Okay." Mike was far too wise of a man to argue. "What song?"

"I'll figure that out."

Mike nodded. "Just tell me where and when."

Santana smiled one of her rare open, genuine smiles. "Want me to walk you back to the hangar deck?" she asked. "Or did you need to stay a while?"

Mike looked back at the picture on the wall. "Nah, I'll go with you," he said. "Make sure Puck doesn't have my kid shooting guns or something." He wasn't sure what he'd gotten himself into, but he had to admit, he was kind of glad he had.

***

For the most part, Mike felt that the duet was Santana's news to announce, but he did think Tina should hear it from him. The first chance he got to talk to her alone was when they were sitting in the bunk room, Tina working on the new costumes for the group and Mike feeding Blaine. Her reaction wasn't exactly what he expected.

"_You're_ singing with Santana?" she asked incredulously.

Mike raised his eyebrows. "Is something wrong with that?"

"No, not at all. I'm just surprised. I've never heard you and Santana sing together." Tina bit off a thread. "I can't even begin to imagine what it will sound like."

"Gee. Thanks."

"Not like that." Tina shot him a look of fond exasperation. "It's just something I've never heard."

Mike was about to answer when Kurt opened the door. Tina brightened. "Kurt! I've almost got one of the shirts done. Tell me what you think!" She held up a gray, long-sleeved, button-down shirt made from recycled fabric. "I know the color isn't great," Tina continued, "but we were able to get black pants and black ties, and it goes with the dresses."

Kurt's face went dead white. "No."

"What's wrong with it?" Mike asked, looking at Tina's handiwork. "I mean, I know it's not a designer label, but it's what we've got."

"No." Kurt was backing up, shaking his head. "No."

Sam came in, looking extremely tired as he slung a small carry sack off his shoulder. He looked from Kurt to Tina, and a furrow appeared between his brows. "What's going on?"

Tina sighed. "Kurt's freaking out because of the costumes for the Colonial Day celebration." She held the shirt up again. "I know I'm not a designer, but it's a shirt-"

"Yeah. No. I'm not wearing that either." Sam didn't go as pale as Kurt did, but face still looked grim. "That looks way too much like a prison jumpsuit."

"It's not," Mike said. "It's the girls' dresses that are made from the jumpsuits from the _Astral Queen_. And they're orange."

"It looks like a New Caprican prison jumpsuit," Sam sad curtly, and Mike felt like an idiot for not realizing that. "Kurt?" Sam carefully reached out. When Kurt didn't jerk away, he put his arm around his shoulders. "Come on. Let's go… let's go up to the common area, okay? Get something to eat?" Kurt didn't really agree or disagree, but he led where Sam followed. Tina stared after them, horrified, and then looked at the shirt she'd made.

"It doesn't look that bad," Mike reassured her when Sam's voice couldn't be heard anymore.

"It does. It does look like those jumpsuits." Tina was on the verge of tears. She thrust the shirt away from her as hard as she could. "I can't deal with this!"

Mike blinked in confusion. "Deal with what?"

"This… this walking on eggshells all the time!" Tina stomped her foot in frustration. "This living with ten other people. This constant on top of each other and not being able to breathe real air and not seeing the sky and having ground under my feet and if I even dare say I miss New Caprica, having a hundred people glare at me! This being on the run and Condition Ones and shipboard rations and this being my life! Your life! Blaine's life! I just can't take it! I just want everything to go back to normal!" She broke down and started crying, and Mike wrapped his arms around her. Blaine whimpered and pulled up on Mike's pant leg, wanting in on the affection, but Mike just patted him on the head and hugged Tina, letting her cry until the storm passed.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her nose on her sleeve when she was done. "I really shouldn't say that about Kurt or Sam. But I mean it about the rest."

"I know." Mike was tired off all that, too. "Maybe you could talk to someone? Like Kurt does?"

Tina snorted. "Kurt can talk to a therapist because he was a prisoner of war and is the Vice President's aide. I'm just going through the same thing everyone in this Fleet is going through." She sighed. "I think about New Caprica, and I know things were hard. But we went through so little that I don't feel like I can complain." Mike thought about those days when he considered joining the NCP just to get more food for Tina and Blaine and didn't say anything. Tina sighed. "But before the Cylons came, we at least had a chance at our family having a normal life. I just want that again."

"We'll find a way to get it," Mike said, holding her close again. "I promise."

***

The Colonial Day celebration was held on the _Zephyr._ Although the _Zephyr_ had been a luxury liner before the attack, it wasn't quite the same level as _Cloud 9_. But it was a lot bigger and a lot nicer than the _Cybele_, Mike noticed enviously. He sighed and picked up an armload of costumes to carry to their green room.

"So how's training going?" Mike asked Lauren as she scooped up her own load. "They kicking your ass?"

"'Course not. I'm kicking theirs." Lauren's smirk faded. "Nah, it's good. I like it."

"What do you like about it?" Mike asked. "I mean, what's it really like?"

Lauren raised an eyebrow, but unlike Puck, she didn't jump on the question like it was an automatic commitment. "I just like it," she said. "After Caprica, it's really the only thing I can imagine doing. Although it's not what I imagined doing back on Gemenon, I'll tell you that." She snorted.

"What about the quarters?" Mike kicked open the door and hauled their stuff inside.

"Racks, you mean? Just like the _Cybele_, except at least three of the guys I bunk with snore."

"Oh. What about families? Do they stay in the racks too?"

Lauren's eyes narrowed speculatively as she dropped her pile of dresses on a table and then began to hang them up on a rack. "The rankers get private quarters. The grunts don't. There are family quarters, though, where they put a couple of families in together."

Family quarters, but with other families. Mike wasn't sure if that was better or not.

"You know, though," Lauren continued, brushing the wrinkles out of a dress, "most recruits aren't Marines. The Marines are pretty frakking picky about who they take, and they only took me because of Caprica. And there are a lot of pilots already, especially when there are only so many ships for them to fly."

"So what else do people do?"

She shrugged. "Man the cannons, deal with the other weapons systems on board. Or they work on the deck. Half the knuckledraggers haven't picked up a gun this whole time. Or they do shit like clean the head or man the galley or do the laundry. Which the ship needs, so it's good someone's around to do it."

"Think I could hack it in the Marines?" Mike asked, his voice deceptively light.

"No." Lauren was blunt. "Oh, you've got some mad skills and you could keep up with the training, I'll give you that. But you couldn't handle it. You're like Anderson." Mike blinked, and Lauren heaved a sigh. "You can't take it, all the stuff you have to do when you're a soldier. That's not a bad thing. But it's not you." She thumped him on the shoulder and headed off to help with something else.

Mike stood by the costumes for a long moment, pretty sure he was offended. But at the same time, he and Tina had given their baby the name Blaine for a reason. Mike respected Blaine, and he'd heard enough of Lauren's stories to know that she… didn't. Not really. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Is everything ready?" Kurt appeared at Mike's elbow, making him jump.

"I think so," Mike said. "Unless the President has any last minute changes for us."

"She won't." Kurt was certain. "Her aide's a bit officious, but she is the most organized person you'll ever meet. She's told us everything we need to know."

"Everything we need to know about what?" Puck tossed a bag down.

"The performance. What's in the bag?"

"I've got something for you," Puck said with a sly grin, and then pulled it out with a flourish. Kurt gasped. There were three scarves; one was knit out of a bulky wool, one was soft and filmy and blue, and one was dark green. Kurt stared at them with a strange expression on his face, joy mixed with something sad and bittersweet. Mike assumed it was all about the clothes, but when he looked at Puck, he was watching Kurt with a dark intensity. Kurt saw it, too, and the joy leeched from his face, leaving him looking solemn and uncomfortable.

"Kurt!" Mercedes called to him from across the room, and Kurt snapped out of it. His entire face changed as he scooped the scarves up went over to greet Mercedes, and the two of them started talking a mile a minute. Puck watched them, his expression unreadable.

"They're nice scarves," Mike said, because standing there silent was starting to feel awkward. "Where'd you get them?"

"You really think the black market is out of commission?" Puck asked with a careless shrug. "You can still get just about anything over there, if you're willing to pay."

"Still on the _Prometheus_?"

"Yeah. Tells you how much the President really objects to it, doesn't it?" Puck grinned. "So. You thinking about going into business or something?"

Mike snorted. "No. But before New Caprica it was the best place to find kids' toys."

"For the Blainester?" Puck looked more interested now.

"Yeah. For Blaine." And for the daycare, but Mike knew better than to say that to Puck. "He's only got two."

"Next time I go over, I'll definitely keep an eye out for stuff for him," Puck promised. He looked positively delighted about the concept. "He's, what, eight months now?"

"Almost, yeah. Thanks, man. I have no idea how hard it would be for me to get over there. I'd owe you one." Mike held out his hand.

Puck slapped it. "No you wouldn't. If it's for Blaine, you owe me nothing. Come on. Let's get moving before Kurt comes and yells at us for not being ready."

***

The performance itself was a blur. Lots of people in the audience, a real stage with lights, and the songs interspersed with speeches and cheering. Mike didn't remember much of it.

The one clear moment he did remember was standing with Santana in the middle of the stage, New Directions behind them as they sang "The Dance" for Brittany. Santana's voice was raspy and emotional, but Mike couldn't remember what he sounded like. There were lights in his eyes and faces before him, but he didn't really see them. But he still remembered that moment, and he knew he always would.

Finally, the ceremony ended and a band took the stage. With music, dancing, and lights, it almost felt like a real party again. Tina had joined a lot of New Directions on the dance floor, but Mike was content to just sit on the sidelines for a while. He and Santana had found a small, high table, and were sitting at it watching the rest of the party.

"This beer sucks." Santana pushed the glass a little further away from her on the table.

"At least it's beer," Mike said, but he couldn't help agreeing with her. Wheat and barley and whatever else went into beer was a distant memory, and the liquid they were drinking was just not the same. But it was still rare enough in the Fleet that Mike was going to drink it. "So… you doing okay after singing that song?" Mike ventured to ask.

"Yeah, I guess so," Santana said with a shrug. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze dead-on. "Actually, yeah, I am. It felt right, you know? I'm glad we did it."

"Me, too."

"To be honest," Santana said, pulling her beer back and taking another sip, "I always thought Brit would be the one singing for me. I'm frakking shocked it ended up the other way around. Glad, but shocked."

"Glad?"

"Of course. You think Brit could handle this?" Santana waved her glass in a vague direction. "She'd be like Hummel or Trouty Mouth there, unable to cope with it."

Mike frowned. "I think Kurt and Sam have some damn good reasons. You didn't see that Cylon detention center."

Santana acknowledged that with a shrug of one shoulder. "Still. You must get it. How would you feel if you died before Tina?"

Mike tried to picture it and recoiled. "I see your point."

"Knew you would. I assumed that's why you hadn't let Puckerman bully you into the service. Because Weepy Geekgirl over there wouldn't be able to take it."

"She'd survive," Mike said firmly, because Tina would. "But she's not the only one that would miss me."

"Oh. Right. Pipsqueak." Santana had no interest in Blaine. "I know Brit would have _survived_, but I can survive better. Besides, it's only a matter of time before I join her anyway."

"You don't sound like you mind."

"Why would I? I'm not convinced we didn't die and aren't in hell."

"We're not in hell. Rachel's not wearing animal sweaters."

Santana burst out into laughter. "Thank the Gods for small favors, right? If there's one thing the Cylons did that I can thank them for, it's bombing the hell out of her wardrobe." She chuckled, and then went serious. "Come on. You know this life sucks. What's there to live for?"

Blaine. Blaine and Tina. Mike knew that was the answer, because before Tina had told him that she was pregnant, he'd thought of different ways to kill himself. He'd never actually had a gun, but he'd known where to get one. He'd been thinking about it. It was only Tina's announcement that changed all that. But he wasn't going to say that out loud to Santana right now. Instead, he said, "I guess I see your point."

"Kind of hard not to." Santana swigged her beer then raised her glass. "Well, life goes on. Even if it sucks."

"Even if it sucks," Mike agreed, clinking his beer glass against hers. "Life goes on." They drank together, and then settled back to watch the others dance.

***

Life did go on. In a monotonous, boring sameness, it went on.

Mike and Tina applied to several large daycare centers whenever an opportunity came up, but they never were accepted. The competition to move to the larger ships was fierce, and apparently they were still just two kids from Gemenon to a lot of people, despite having run a daycare for the past two years. Mike more or less resigned himself to the fact they were going to be stuck on the _Cybele_ until they found Earth.

There was some Earth-related excitement about a month after their performance, when the Fleet found the Lion's Head Nebula. At least, they were told that that was what it was, and that it was a marker on the pathway to the thirteenth colony. Mike felt heartened by that news for a few days, but as it wasn't followed up with news of any other discoveries or importance, the excitement faded, and Earth seemed as far out of reach as ever.

But Blaine learned to walk and started to talk, and every new development fascinated Mike. Even better, there was one other person just as delighted with every little thing that Blaine did, and that was Tina. Their mutual love for their son brought them even closer, and even when they fought (which was often), Mike felt secure that this family was what he wanted. He, Tina, and Blaine slept together each night in their bunk, and even though it was a crowded spaceship at the end of the world, Mike knew he was home.

And so the days ticked on.

***

Everyone was clustered around the wireless when Mike walked in. "What's going on?"

"Shhh." Several people hushed him. Mike pushed closer and heard Laura Roslin's voice.

"We will be searching the nearby systems for any sort of food source that can sustain life. But at this time, I must ask for your continued patience and courage. Thank you."

"Searching for nearby food sources?" Mike asked Mr. Schuester. "What's going on?"

"The food supply was contaminated," Mr. Schuester said with a grimace.

"What? How?"

"I'm not sure." Mr. Schuester looked drawn and worn. He had been for quite some time, even before New Caprica, but like a lot of people, he looked worse now. "All I know is we've got what's been produced, and they can't recycle anything more. There's going to be a rationing program, but even tight rations can only feed thirty-nine thousand people for so long. If we don't find another food source soon, it's going to get ugly."

And another food source was going to be hard to find. They'd only come across two habitable planets this entire time that Mike knew of- Kobol and New Caprica. This wasn't something that would be over in a few days. Mike's mind immediately leapt to Blaine and Tina, and a savage protectiveness squeezed him. He had to start planning _now_. Blaine was eating solid foods but he was also still nursing so that would help, but if Tina didn't get enough, both of them could starve. There was no way Mike was going to let that happen. Not his family. If he had to starve to death to keep them alive, he would.

***

At first it was like a game. Despite all logic, no one quite believed that the food shortage would last. People were used to braving things, and to going without. That lasted for a day, maybe two. But as rations became even scarcer, the mood became more somber. Everything slowed down. Technically, the Fleet didn't stop. People had to keep doing their jobs, not just for survival, but out of the sheer need for something to _do_. So the few kids they had came to the daycare because the parents went to work, doing what jobs they had. The days ticked by, and no food was found.

Mike began rationing his own food even more strictly. He ate one meal a day. The rest that he had- which wasn't much- he squirreled away in a box by his bed, hoping that none of New Directions would notice, or that if they did, they would understand. But soon, rationing wasn't enough.

Blaine cried the first few days because he was hungry, and the sound of it dug into Mike's soul. But far worse was when he stopped crying. His eyes turned dull and he didn't play anymore- he just lay against a parent or slept. He was starving, and Mike couldn't take it. He had to do something.

There was definitely one ship that would have food. Mike had made his decision in the middle of the night, looking down at Blaine and Tina huddled together in misery. Now he sat huddled in the corner of a control room, the phone pressed to his ear as he waited.

"All right, fine," Mike said into the phone when Puck finally came to the line. "You win. I'll enlist."

"Great! You won't be sorry! We can really use you, man."

"Yeah, well. Anything to get more food for Blaine and Tina."

Silence. Then, "About that," Puck began slowly. "Look, man, I know you think we're getting fed better over here. But right now, we're not getting anything."

"They've got to be giving you something," Mike said, unable to believe it. "What are you fighting on otherwise?"

"No, I'm serious. There's nothing here, either. I haven't eaten in two days."

"You're joking."

"You think anyone jokes about this shit right now?"

No. They didn't. Not anymore. Mike sighed. "I really thought you were getting fed."

"If there was food, we would be."

No food for enlisting. Mike crumbled, slumping against the console. "Never mind then."

"Wait, what? So you're not enlisting? What the hell?"

"'I've got to protect my family, Puck."

"Yeah, and that's what we do over here! Protect people!"

"From Cylons. Being in the military won't help me protect them from this. I'll talk to you later." Mike hung up the phone, even though Puck was still arguing. His protests meant nothing right now. The only thing that mattered was taking care of his family, and Mike was going to do anything he had to in order to do that.

***

Two changes of clothes, two books, and a tooth brush. Mike looked at the sad little collection in front of him, swept it into a bag, and then headed down to the docking bay before anyone noticed where he was going. He sat quietly as the shuttle flew over to the _Prometheus_, listening to his stomach growl.

The black market was still thriving even after New Caprica, but it was different. People were more… more desperate, Mike thought, working through the crowd. When he'd come here before, it had usually been for luxuries, like books or music or Tina's engagement pendant. Visiting the black market had been a little bit of illicit excitement in the day-to-day monotony. This time, there was nothing fun about it.

Mike went from vendor to vendor, asking each one about food. Each one shook their head. There was no food of any kind. He spotted one crowd, but apparently the vendor in question had alcohol. Mike debated buying some- it had calories, after all- but he couldn't give it to Blaine, or even Tina.

Finally, he struck pay dirt. "They're past the expiration," the man selling the protein bars said. "Some of them have gone and gotten moldy. But if you can pay for them, they're yours."

"You can have anything I've got," Mike said, pushing his bag across the table to him. "You can have all of it."

He opened the bag and looked through, then snorted derisively. "That won't buy you even a quarter of one."

"Please," Mike begged. "I've got a kid."

"You and half the Fleet."

"I'll do anything. I'll work. Whatever you need, I'll do it. Just please, let me have a couple of bars."

He shrugged. "There's nothing you can give me that I can't already get."

"Then what do you want?" Mike fell to his knees. "Tell me. Tell me and I'll get it. _Please_."

"Antibiotics. Weapons. Something that gets me somewhere. Not this shit." He tossed the bag down to the floor.

"Antibiotics," he said with relief. Just his luck that he lived with a doctor. "I can get you antibiotics. I can. Just… can you hold on to those for me? Just until I can get to my ship and back?"

"Only if a better offer doesn't come along."

"Thank you." Mike backed away. "Thank you." He turned and ran.

All the way back to the _Cybele_ his heart was pounding in his throat. _Please let it be there. Please let her med kit be there._ Over and over, praying to any god who might be listening. Any other time he might be shocked that at what he was going to do, but today he didn't care. Yes, he was going to steal medicine, but it was for _Blaine._ What was his conscience next to his child's life?

He was in luck. Quinn wasn't there, and her med kit was. Mike flung it open and searched through. Three bottles. Three bottles weren't going to buy him much, especially since none of them had many pills in them to begin with. He looked at the three bottles in his hand, took a deep breath, and slammed the med kit shut. Three bottles would get him _something_. It had to.

The vendor was packing up when he got back. "Sorry," he said when Mike handed him the bottles. "I sold everything while you were gone."

"To who?" Mike asked desperately. Maybe he could at least buy a few bars off the new owner.

"You think I know? Better luck next time." He hoisted his bag over her shoulder and disappeared into the crowd.

Mike stood there, staring at the place where she'd been standing, the implications of his act dawning on him. He'd _stolen medicine._ He looked down at the three bottles in his hands. These pills could be the difference between life and death for someone, and he'd stolen them. But then, that protein bar could be the difference between life and death for Blaine. Mike angrily decided that the only thing he regretted was that he'd been too late.

He tried a few other vendors, and finally, by some miracle, he found one that had food. She gave him three bars for the three bottles. It wasn't much, but he clutched them gratefully. It would buy them another few days, and maybe that was all they would need.

***

Tina and Blaine were curled together in the bunk when Mike came in. Mike shook her shoulder gently.

"Mike?" Tina opened her eyes slowly.

"Here," Mike said, kneeling by the bed and holding out half a bar. "Eat this."

Tina sat up. "Where did you get that?"

"Don't ask questions. Just eat it."

"Mike-"

"Tina. You need to eat. Both for yourself and Blaine. Please." Either he won her over or her own hunger did, because she sat back against the wall and began to eat. Mike smiled at her and then began to gently shake Blaine awake. "Blaine? Wake up. Come on, buddy. Daddy's got something for you."

Blaine came awake as slowly as Tina had, and it took a long moment for him to understand what Mike was holding out. But when he realized it, he snatched the bar from Mike and nearly took too large a bite. Mike lunged forward and stopped him just in time, and then began breaking the bar into pieces. Blaine devoured each piece that Mike handed him hungrily. It felt good to watch him eat.

"Here," Tina said, handing Mike a small bit of her own portion. He shook his head, but Tina huffed. "Mike, I know why you gave it to me. But you have to eat a little, too, okay? I ate most of it, but you can take this last piece. Gods know what you had to do to get it for us."

He wanted to argue with her, but his hand was reaching out and taking the ration bar piece from her palm of its own accord. He had to force himself to chew slowly, and it was heaven going down, even as his empty stomach begged for more. "I never thought anything that so closely resembled cardboard could taste so good."

"I know, right?" Tina smiled at him, then looked down and stroked Blaine's hair. Mike thought of the two other bars he had tucked in his shirt and relaxed a little bit. He knew Quinn would find the missing bottles and it would be a mess, but he didn't care. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and if it meant he could get Blaine and Tina more food, he'd do it again. No regrets at all.

***

Mike was in the shower when he heard the clatter, and somehow, even before he turned around, he knew it wasn't good. When he turned around, he saw Burt Hummel collapsed in a heap on the floor.

"Burt!" Mike sprinted across the room, skidding on the wet tile. "Burt!"

His first terrified thought was that Burt had had another heart attack, but when Mike made it to his side, Burt's breathing was even and his pulse was strong.

"It's malnutrition," Quinn said later, after Mike and three other people had managed to move Burt to his bunk. "Plain and simple. He's dying of starvation."

"He can't be!" Mike looked frantically at Burt's inert form. "It's not possible."

"Of course it's possible," Quinn snapped. "We're _all_ dying of starvation. Unless we find food soon, this is going to be how humanity ends. We starve to death in a bunch of floating tin cans."

Mike glared at her. "Great. You tell Kurt and Carole that conclusion then."

"Like they don't know." Quinn pulled her stethoscope off and stuffed it into her bag. Mike was about to say something nasty when he noticed how much her hands were trembling. He let his gaze travel up and noticed that her face was bloated and pale as well, and that she looked exhausted and scared. It was hard, but he bit down on the sharp words he wanted to say and just nodded.

"Is there anything we should do?" he asked, once his temper was under control.

Quinn was trying, too. "I'm not sure there's anything we _can_ do. He needs to eat."

Mike swallowed, looking at Burt's pale face, and thought of the bar and a half he had left from the antibiotics. "How much longer does he have?"

"He's not going to die in the next hour, if that's what you're asking," Quinn said. She sat down on a bunk. "He fainted, but he'll wake up soon. When he does, he should conserve his energy. We all should, really."

"Right." Mike sat down as well. "So what happens next? Is there any way we can stop this?"

"Find something to put in your stomach," Quinn said. She sighed and then stood up, wobbling a bit as she got to her feet. "I've got to go. You'll be okay?"

"I'll be okay." Mike watched her leave, and then looked back down at Burt, who was still sleeping.

He had a bar and a half left. If he gave Burt the half bar, it was enough to give him… what? Another day or two before he collapsed again? Mike didn't know. But it wouldn't do much. He thought about New Caprica, and seeing Burt when Kurt was in detention. He remembered that terrible desperation that had marked Burt's features, that complete and utter inability to help his own child. Mike sighed and stood up. It was a bar and a half, and there was nothing more for Blaine after it was gone. Burt would understand, Mike told himself. Burt would understand better than anyone in New Directions ever would.

But that didn't mean he didn't feel a little guilty as he headed out of the room and back to work.

***

Burt did wake up, and he was able to get moving again, although his motions were slower. Mike was relieved about that, and it soothed any pangs of conscience he might have had. Quinn discovered the missing antibiotics, but no one had the energy to do much about it. Mike couldn't even summon guilt over that. All he could focus on was what he had to do, and the resources he had left.

Half a bar. He had half a bar left. Mike carried it reverently to the cabin where Tina sat watching Blaine sleep. "What about you?" Tina asked when he gave it to her. "You've got to eat some, too."

"I ate some already."

"No you didn't. You're lying." Tina laid a hand on Mike's cheek. "Mike, don't lie. I can take a lot, but I can't take that."

"Fine. I didn't. But you two have to eat."

"And what will you do?"

"I've got an idea." Mike smiled, even though he didn't feel like it. "I heard about this from Artie- he said some people on the _Adriatic_ are doing it. It helps."

"What helps?" Tina asked suspiciously. Mike held up a newspaper, and her brows furrowed. "I don't get it. Classified ads?"

"Paper. It's fiber. It's plant matter."

She gaped at him. "You're going to eat _paper_?"

Mike tore off a piece, crumpled it into a ball, and stuck it in his mouth. It wasn't that bad- after all, it was just _paper_- but it was hard to chew. He managed, though, and eventually swallowed, washing it down with tepid water from the bathroom. "It could be worse," he said, forcing another smile. "At least it's not legal documents."

"I don't know if I should be furious or if I should be asking how it tasted," Tina said.

Mike shrugged. "Eat the bar. Or eat half of it and give the other half to Blaine. Please." He tore off another bite of paper and held it up in a "cheers" fashion. "You need to eat."

Tina gave in and broke the bar in half, then began nibbling on the slightly smaller section. When she was done, she shook Blaine awake and handed him a bite of the bar. He looked so listless and tired, and he didn't even grab the bite out of his mother's hand. Tina pressed it to his lips and had to feed it to him, bit by bit. When she was done, Blaine fell back against the pillow and closed his eyes. Tina muffled a sob with her hands. Mike reached out and pulled her close.

"We can't do this much longer," Tina said through the sobs. "How much longer can we last?"

"We'll make it," Mike lied. "It's got to end soon, one way or another."

"Food! They found food!"

Mike's bars had been gone for two day when the words swept around the Fleet like fire set to dry newspaper. _Food._ Mike closed his eyes in relief when Artie told him.

"So when are we able to eat?" he asked Artie.

Artie frowned. "It's not that simple," he said. "See, what they've found is a planet with large swaths of edible algae-"

"_Algae?_"

Artie shrugged. "I guess it's got the nutrients we need to survive. Besides, anything is pretty tasteless once it goes through the refiner."

"I guess." Mike decided that algae sounded good enough to him. "So that's the problem? That we have to refine it?"

"Nope. That we have to get to it."

Maybe it was the hunger, but Mike couldn't see the problem. "That's why we're in spaceships, isn't it?"

Artie made a face and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Funny. But there's a big problem. There's an enormous cloud of radiation between us and the planet. We can't go around it- it stretches too far. So we have to go through it."

"Still not getting it."

"It's like going through nukes. Most of the ships can't handle it. The _Cybele_ sure can't. So they're moving all the civilians over to the _Galactica_, and giving the skeleton crews radiation suits." Artie grinned. "I'm not sure how I'm going to maneuver in a radiation suit, but it should be fun trying."

"You have a weird definition of fun," Mike said dryly. But the news that there was food and it was coming was good- they just had to hold on a little longer.

***

Mike, Tina, Blaine, Coach Beiste, Quinn, Rachel, and Burt were the only members of New Directions going from the _Cybele_ to the _Galactica_- the others were elsewhere in the Fleet. The seven of them stuck close together, helping each other. Burt needed an arm to lean on, and Mike was grateful that Coach was there.

Mike watched out a small window of the shuttlecraft as the bulk of the _Galactica_ loomed in front of them and tried to shake off the image of the ship swallowing him whole. The ship docked in one of the bays. He bent over and kissed Blaine, who was settled in his lap and clutching a ratty stuffed toy. His eyes were sunk into his skull and he was listless, but he was still alive. At least thirteen children had died of malnutrition, but not Blaine. Mike looked back up to the _Galactica_ and smirked triumphantly. _He_ was responsible for that, not any military.

The group was led down to a huge bay where cots were set up in rows. Tina found a free one and sat down wearily, reaching out for Blaine. "Let's try to get you something to eat," she murmured, slowly pulling up her shirt. Mike winced at her small exclamation of pain when Blaine latched on too eagerly, then sat down on her other side and stroked her hair and watched the bay fill up.

Mercedes appeared in their row, and she looked like a woman on a mission. Under the harsh lighting, the faint scars from the burns she'd sustained on her face and neck in the rescue of New Caprica were more noticeable, and they made her look older. Or maybe it was just her uniform and how she held herself- Mike didn't know. In either case, she didn't smile when she saw them. "Quinn, Doc Cottle says we need you up on the landing bay. Is there anyone else that can work?"

Burt shook his head, and Rachel closed her eyes. Mike didn't feel like it, but if he volunteered, it might mean that he could get his family further up the line to be fed. "I can," he said, standing up. "How long will it take?"

"Right now, about ten hours. But once you head down to the planet, I'm hearing two weeks."

"Two weeks?!" He looked back at Tina, but he knew he'd already committed. Tina knew it, too.

"We'll be okay, Mike," she said, touching his hand. "We've got everyone else."

"I'll ask if they can stay on _Galactica_ until you get back," Mercedes said. "And I'll make sure they get food."

Mike nodded. "All right. Just tell me what you need me to do."

***

There were five groups of ships to be shepherded through the radiation cloud. _Galactica_ herself would jump with each group, and then jump back and get the next group. But the cloud was so large that it had to be navigated in two jumps. Since radiation would fry the navigation instruments of civilian ships, Raptors shepherded each ship through. It sounded very simple on paper, but it was a lot harder than that. Mike beame a part of the deck crew for those first ten hours that Mercedes had cited, and he saw the radiation damage first hand.

He was hosing down a Raptor when Finn climbed out. When he took his helmet off, his face was white and there were huge dark circles under his eyes. "You okay?" Mike asked, alarmed.

"I feel like shit," Finn admitted. "It's a good thing I haven't eaten, or I'd be puking it up right now." He swayed, and Mike steadied him.

"Did the _Cybele_ make it through?"

"Yeah. I had them. Artie's okay. I talked to him."

Mike let out a sigh of relief. "Thank the Gods."

"Yeah. But we lost the _Adriatic._"

"Frak me."

"It's crazy out there. You can't see, and it makes you feel all…" Finn swayed again. "Crazy. I'd better get hosed off." He lurched off towards the decontamination station.

The news that they'd lost a ship stayed with Mike as he did his job, hosing down Raptors and scrubbing the deck. The work was harder than it should have been and made him light-headed, so he barely noticed it when Santana came up to him. "Wuss," she said in the general direction of Finn, who was slumped against a wall. "Good thing he's off next run or he'd find himself lost in that sparkly cloud of dust."

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Of course. No way in hell I'm letting something like radiation poisoning take _me_ down. If I die, I'm going down fighting."

"Finn was fighting. So did Blaine."

"Oh, please." Santana rolled her eyes. "You're a wuss if you let some subatomic particle get to you, and I'm not a wuss. I can't afford to think any other way." She walked up into her Raptor with her shoulders squared. A light went off in Mike's head, and he realized this was Lieutenant Lopez, Viper pilot, and this was how she survived. He watched her go with a measure of admiration.

Finn was on shift for the third run. He looked bad going in, but when he came out he got his helmet off just in time to fall to his hands and knees and vomit all over the floor. Quinn was by his side immediately, trying to haul him to his feet, but Finn was so shaky and heavy that she couldn't do it alone. Mike hurried over to help her.

"Check his radiation badge," Quinn ordered.

The badge was hanging off Finn's belt. Mike flipped it open. "It's about half black," he said, showing it to her.

Quinn sighed. "That's still a lot. Finn. Finn!" She smacked him firmly across the face, and Finn's eyes fluttered open. "Can you walk?"

"The _Swordfish_," Finn groaned. "I lost the _Swordfish._"

Mike and Quinn exchanged worried glances, neither of them knowing what to say. The Fleet had already lost two other ships. Mike found himself thinking the terrible thought that at least the _Swordfish_ was small. He almost said it, but then Finn went even paler and wobbled, and Mike had to catch him.

"He's going to pass out," Quinn said. "Let's get him to the infirmary."

"He's got one more run," Mike said, guiding Finn over to a gurney.

"We'll see where everyone else is. That last run is going to be done by whoever is on their feet," Quinn predicted grimly as she wheeled Finn off.

She was right. Pilots kept dropping. Finn wasn't the only one to throw up, and at least three had to be taken to the infirmary for dehydration. The military doctor, was the final arbitrator, and he took at least four pilots off for no reason that Mike could see but was obviously clear to him. Santana soldiered on, though, making it through the fourth run.

"I'm taking Twinkletoes' place for the last one," Santana told Mike as they sat against the wall and rested. Her voice was harsh and raspy. Mike handed her water bottle, but she pushed it away. "Can't. It will make me puke again."

"You'll dehydrate."

"I'll dehydrate more if I puke."

Mike glanced down at Santana's radiation badge. It was about as black as Finn's had been when Quinn had had him taken to the infirmary. He thought of Blaine Anderson, and the way he'd looked when he'd come on board the _Galactica._ He thought about the _Swordfish_ and the _Adriatic_ and the _Carina_, and what had happened to the crews of those ships. He fumbled for Santana's hand and laced his fingers through hers. Santana didn't squeeze back, but she didn't pull her hand away, either. They sat together, holding hands and waiting for the last jump to be called.

A voice finally came over the PA system, ordering all of the pilots to their stations. Santana struggled to her feet, pulling her hand free.

"Santana…" Mike caught her arm, but when she turned, he didn't quite know what to say.

"Oh, don't get so emotional," Santana said, pulling her arm free. "I'll come back, you dork. I don't have a choice this time. If I die, so do the people on the ship I'm shepherding." She walked off, her stride unsteady but her ponytail swinging.

Santana was as good as her word, and she wasn't the only one. All the pilots made it back, although there was some worry about the final one, a woman with the callsign of Kat. But she made it back, and the ship she was guiding was safe. She collapsed after, but the army doctor got to her fast.

"See?" Puck appeared at Mike's side, nudging him. "That's what it's all about, man! That's why you should join up! The people on the _Faru Sadin_ are alive because Kat's got guts. You could do something like that, Mike."

Mike wanted to argue, but it didn't seem the time or place for it. Instead, he got back to work hosing down Kat's Raptor. The Raptor looked terrible. Mike was kind of amazed that Kat was even alive.

It took a long time to finish, but when he did, he noticed Santana slumped against the wall. Her knees were pulled up against her chest and her tangled hair was hiding most of her face. "Hey," he said, crouching down beside her. "Aren't you supposed to be down in the infirmary?"

"I can't go down there," Santana said.

"I can help you," Mike offered. "And I can get Puck-"

"I'm not going down there."

"But the doctor said-"

"Frak the doctor! I'm not going down there and watching her die, okay?"

Mike sat back on his heels. "Watching who die?"

"Kat!" Santana looked up. Her face was so hard and angry that Mike couldn't speak. "I saw the look on Cottle's face. I saw her badge, too. She's not going to make it."

Mike found his voice. "Maybe she will. Maybe she-"

"You know what? Frak that, and frak you. She's going to frakking die in that infirmary, and no amount of wishy-washy _hope_ is going to change that. And I'm not going down there to watch it."

"But-"

"Look, I'll get down there when I can, okay? When it's a little less crazy. Right now I'm just going to sit here and stay out of the frakking way, because sometimes that's all you can do. All right?"

"Do you want someone to stay with you?" That wasn't what he'd meant to say.

Santana snorted. "I think I can handle sitting here on my own, thanks." She softened a little. "I'll be fine, all right? I know how to handle this."

And this was how she handled it. Mike didn't understand it, but he did understand that she wanted to be alone. "All right," he said, backing away. "I'll… I'll see you later." Santana ignored him. All around, he saw the news of Kat's impending death trickling through, in the glumness on faces and the muted voices. It wasn't how he thought of soldiers dying.

"Hey, Cohen-Chang! Get over here!" Someone was calling him from across the deck, and he remembered he had his own jobs to do. The passage was over, and now he was being sent down to the planet. There was no time to think about a woman he didn't know or a friend who was grieving- only time to do his job. He wondered if it was always like that on _Galactica_, and if it was, how they could stand it over and over again.

***

"I wish you didn't have to go," Tina said, looking wistfully at the Raptor.

"They need people to help. Besides, this gets you fed quicker."

"I know." Tina straightened her shoulders. "And Mercedes said she'd help me find a place to bunk, and with some of the ships lost, there's a lot of organizing to do. People need homes."

"Yeah. I'll come back up and you'll be running _Galactica_." Tina laughed and ducked her head, but Mike half-meant it. He had no illusions about who ran the business side of their daycare. "I'll hurry back."

"You'll come back when they bring you back." Mike shrugged at her blunt assessment of the truth. Blaine, tired of being ignored, squirmed from Tina's arms towards Mike. Mike took him and held him close, hoping that by the time he came back Blaine wouldn't feel so small and light.

"Come back to us."

"I will." Mike kissed her, and then Blaine. "I love you both."

***

The planet was nothing like New Caprica. There were trees and grass, and green lakes. The territory was rocky and uneven with a dramatic ravine. As soon as the Raptor hatch opened, a wave of heat and humidity hit Mike. The air smelled terrible, sulphurous and rotten, and it was hard to breathe because of the heat. The military contingent had set up some u-shaped tents that Mike was later told were called quonset huts. There was already a potable water still set up, and some algae had been harvested and processed so that workers could be fed and actually have energy to do their jobs.

"Don't worry," Galen Tyrol said as the crews climbed off the Raptors. "You'll get used to it soon enough. And look on the bright side- you're the first to eat!" A Marine thrust a bowl of green slime into Mike's hands, along with a spoon. Mike eyed it warily, but his stomach dictated his actions and he obediently took a bite. It tasted _terrible_, like bitter, rotting collard greens, but he choked it down and went back for another bite immediately.

"Don't eat too fast," a woman that Mike belatedly recognized as Cally Tyrol said. She gave a wry smile. "I know it's the gourmet meal of the century, but you could get sick."

"It's terrible," Mike admitted.

"Isn't it?" Cally rolled her eyes. "It should get better after a few more rounds through the processor, though."

Mike had learned two years ago not to think too hard about food in space. Instead, he finished his portion and put the bowl where Cally indicated. "What happens next?" he asked her.

"We've got a lot of harvesting to do. I'll show you how to work the pumps."

***

Mike's shift ended twelve hours later, when a moon hung heavy over the high ridge that towered over the basecamp. He staggered to the circle around the fire and claimed his second bowl of algae. It didn't taste any better than the first one did, but he was still hungry enough that he wolfed it down.

Puck had come down with the first wave of the Marines. Mike sat beside him gratefully. "Where's Lauren?"

"She's still up on the _Galactica_," Puck said, wiping one finger over his empty bowl and sucking the clinging green goop off it. "She just gave out."

"Really? Lauren?"

"I know, right? I always thought nothing stops my woman. Kind of scares the shit out of me, if you want the truth."

Yeah. It scared Mike, too, almost as bad as Burt collapsing. He changed the subject a little. "So what's going on with you and Lauren? Hasn't she proposed to you yet?" Puck made a face at him. "Seriously," Mike pressed. "What are you guys waiting for?"

Puck apparently decided to be done being offended that Mike thought Lauren would be the one to propose and leaned back against a rock. "I don't know, man," he admitted. "We were doing okay on New Caprica, and then the toasters came along, and it really frakked her up again, you know?"

That was news to Mike. "She seems to hold it together pretty well."

"Yeah, but she just… shuts off." Puck shrugged like it was no big deal, even though it was obvious that it was. "I tried to talk her into going to that shrink that Kurt goes to, but she nearly tore my balls off for even suggesting it. Besides, she's not sure if she wants kids, so there's all that, too."

Mike nodded sympathetically. "Yeah. I can see that. But maybe when we get to Earth, she'll change her mind."

"Depends on when we get to Earth, I guess, and what we find there. Can't get there fast enough for me." Puck tossed his bowl to the side. He lay back, his arms folded behind his head, and looked up at the sky. Mike leaned back on his own hands, staring into the fire.

"We'll get there," Mike said. "We've gotten this far, and we found food. It was against all the odds, but we did it."

"Well, that makes a whole lot of sense," Puck said sarcastically. Mike didn't flinch. "You don't really think the Gods are watching over us, do you?"

Mike shrugged. "If there was ever a time they were, it would be now. Yes, I do."

"Right." Puck was silent for a long moment. "Well, if you're talking to them, ask them if they'll watch out for Lauren, will ya?" he asked quietly. "Because even though she'd kick my ass for saying it, I think she could use it. Frakking toasters. This wasn't how any of this was supposed to go down."

"Yeah, I can do that," Mike said. Puck flashed a smile, and they sat together for a while in silence.

***

"Mike, toss me that coupling by your feet, will you?" Mike found the coupling and handed it over to Cally. "Thanks." She wiped the sweat off her face with her upper arm, leaving a streak of grime, and then deftly attached the coupling to the vacuum tube.

In the three days they'd been on the planet, they'd harvested most of the algae near the landing site, and now people were being sent out to other nearby sites to pump even more. A Raptor had brought Mike and Cally out to a peninsula overlooking a large, green lake for the day.

"You'd think there'd be fish in it," Mike said, looking down at the lake. "Is there any reason we're not fishing?"

"We'd never get enough for the whole Fleet," Cally explained. "We only have so much time here to harvest the algae."

"But why?"

"Cylons," Cally said, shrugging. "Why else?"

Right. The threat that the Cylons would find them again. Not that Mike doubted that it would happen. No one doubted that after New Caprica. "Would be nice to have some fish, though," Mike said wistfully, looking at the lake.

Cally grinned mischievously. "Well, if we happen to catch a couple, I don't see why we have to toss them back, do you?" Mike grinned back, and decided that he really liked Cally.

"So what do you do?" Cally asked him as they finished assembling the vacuum setup. "I think I remember seeing you with kids?"

Mike nodded. "My wife and I run a daycare center over on the _Cybele_."

"The _Cybele_'s pretty small, isn't it? I can't see that there'd be a lot of call for it."

"There was before New Caprica," Mike said, as he lowered the tube into the lake. "And on New Caprica, it was different."

"Everything was different on New Caprica," Cally said wistfully. They exchanged glances and smiled.

"We're trying to get onto one of the bigger ships. We applied for the _Zephyr_ and the _Carina_, but nothing so far. We're trying for the _Galactica_, but we don't have much of a shot."

"Why not?"

"I don't know." Mike shrugged. "I just assume because we keep getting turned down. Which sucks, because we'd really like to move somewhere where Blaine can be with other kids. The _Cybele_'s where New Directions is, but that's not what we need anymore."

"I definitely understand that." Cally indicated that he should put the hose into the green goop below them, then picked up a hose of her own. They began to suck the algae up, nudging the hoses around and making sure they didn't clog. "Bringing Nicky up on the _Galactica_ doesn't always seem best for him, either. Not after New Caprica. Although it could be a lot worse."

Mike nodded. "I know Blaine isn't a reason another daycare should hire us, but no one's so much as called us for an interview. Tina thinks it's because were Gemenese."

Cally frowned. "It could be," she said seriously. "Or it could just be stiff competition. I think- wait! Look!" Cally pointed down. "Right there- move your hose over!"

"Fish!" Mike moved his hose and sucked the fish up. He pulled the hose out and Cally flipped the switch off, and the fish fell to the ground, flopping about.

"There's dinner tonight," Cally said. She patted Mike on the shoulder, leaving a moldy green handprint. "Or at least part of it. If we happen to see more…."

"Right," Mike said with a grin.

It was a long day, but by the end they were able to roast three fish over the fire. There were no seasonings or butter, but the fish tasted amazing, and Mike and Cally devoured all three.

"Well, now you've got the goods on me," Cally said happily, licking her fingers. "If Galen ever finds out we had fish and ate them and didn't give him any, he'll divorce me. So now I have to put a good word in for you on _Galactica_, huh?"

Mike laughed. "I wouldn't say no."

"Will it buy your silence?" Cally looked mischievous.

"It might." Mike couldn't resist teasing her back. "It might not. You'll just have to try it and see."

"I don't negotiate with blackmailers."

Mike shrugged playfully, and Cally scuffed some dust at him. Mike kicked some back, and after a few minutes it turned into a cross between a game of tag and a wrestling match. It was like playing, and for a few minutes it was possible to forget that they were harvesting algae to eat while a bunch of genocidal robots chased them across all of space. Eventually Mike managed to pin Cally to the ground.

"All right! You win!" Cally laughed, pushing Mike off. "Let me up, you oaf." He held out his hand and hauled her to her feet. She dusted herself off. "Come on. Let's get this last tank filled before the Raptor gets here."

Five days later, Mike was sitting on the ground, cleaning a hose that was clogged with algae. The novelty  
of having a full stomach was wearing off. He was getting used to the smell, but it was still pretty bad. Although it was better here at the camp than out at one of the lakes.

Cally's voice made him start. "Cohen-Chang! Get in here!" She stood at the door of a quonset hut, and when Mike got closer, she winked at him. "You have a call."

"A call?" Panic seized him. There was no reason that anyone would call him from _Galactica_ unless Tina or Blaine-

"A _call_, Mike." Cally was smiling. "Just take it." She pulled him inside and shoved the receiver into his hands.

Mike put the receiver to his ear. "Hello?"

"Mike?" Tina's voice was clear. "Don't panic. Blaine's fine, and so am I. But something came up that I had to talk to you about right away."

"What's going on?"

"That job? The one for the workers in the military daycare?"

Mike hardly dared to breathe. "What about it?"

"We got it."

For a second, Mike could just gape at the receiver. "We got it?"

"We got it," Tina said, laughing. "They offered us the position."

"You're kidding!"

"No, I'm not! Mercedes was trying and she really didn't think we would get it, but then I guess someone else spoke up for us and they gave it to us! And Mike- they even said they'd give us a room."

"A- a _what_?"

"A room! There's an old storage closet in the back across from the nursery. It's half the size of our tent on New Caprica, but it's a room. We have to have security clearances and there are a whole lot of other things, but it would be a private room, and a huge daycare. The only thing is, I have to let them know right away. Are we sure we want to do this?"

He knew Tina's doubts as well as his own. Taking this position would mean leaving the _Cybele_, and all of New Directions that remained there. It would be hectic, it would mean taking Blaine onto the ship that was most often in danger, and it would mean turning their lives completely upside down. But at the same time, it meant privacy and more children for Blaine to play with. And Blaine would never object to being on the same ship as Uncle Puck. Really, there was no question. "Let's do it."

Tina squealed. "I'll let them know, and Blaine and I will get everything settled. How soon will you be back up?"

"I'm not sure. At least another week."

Tina sighed. "I figured. Well, Mercedes is making faces at me. I don't think I'm supposed to be making this call in the first place. I'd better go."

"Me too. I love you."

"I love you, too. Come back safe."

"I will." Mike replaced the receiver and looked at Cally, who had been attempting to pretend she wasn't listening and failed completely.

"Good news?" she asked innocently.

"You had something to do with this, didn't you?"

"I owed you for not telling Galen about the fish." Her smile was mischievous. "Besides, I like you. You'd be great taking care of Nicky."

Mike couldn't help it- he jumped forward and hugged Cally tight. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you so much. We'll take, like, the best care _ever_ of Nicky. I promise."

"I wouldn't have gone to bat for you otherwise," Cally said, laughing as she pushed him away. "Come on. We'd better get back to work."

"I know. Just… thanks," Mike said, still glowing. "This means so much to us."

Cally smiled. "Glad I could do something to help."

***

"So," Puck said, when he and Mike were the last two sitting around a dying campfire, "I hear you and Tina are coming over to the _Galactica._"

Mike hadn't planned on telling Puck yet. "Finn told you?"

"On his last supply run down, yeah. That's awesome, man. Knew we'd get you sooner or later."

And that was why he hadn't planned on telling him. But this conversation had to be had, so Mike squared his shoulders. "I'm not enlisting."

"Tina is?"

"Neither of us. We got jobs at the daycare center." Puck snorted derisively, and Mike snapped. "Enough."

"Enough what?"

"Why do you keep giving me so much shit about this?" Mike demanded. "I don't get it. You understood it on New Caprica. Everything with Kurt-"

"I gave Kurt plenty of shit."

"For a long time, yeah. But for one, you _know_ that even though he wasn't a soldier he got information for the Resistance and he helped some people with medicine and food. But I also know that something else went down between you two."

Puck's eyes flared open and he looked guilty. "How the hell did you know about that?"

"Do you think I'm blind or stupid? I might not talk about things, but they're pretty easy to see. For months you were ready to rip his head off for not being in the Resistance, and then overnight you were ready to rip the head off anyone who said a fraction of what you'd been saying the whole time!" Puck looked away, confirming it, and Mike pressed on. "Rachel and Tina thought maybe you guys hooked up, but you'd never do that to Lauren. Anyone else, maybe, but not Lauren, even if it's just because you're afraid she'd rip your balls off. I'm guessing Kurt saved your ass somehow, and you found out about it."

"So what if he did?" Puck said. "More than you'll ever do, watching kids."

"Yeah, well, it's not your life I have to protect," Mike shot back. "It's Blaine's."

Puck stood his ground. "Yeah. It _is_ Blaine's life you've gotta protect, and that's why I don't get it! You've got more to protect than any of us do!"

"You think I don't protect Blaine?"

"Well, if you're not flying a bird or shooting down toasters, what the hell are you protecting him from? The threat's out there!" Puck gestured wildly and vaguely at the sky.

Mike thought of the past two weeks and his blood boiled. "No it's not! I have to protect him from people, too!"

"Well, Tina can do that! Tina kicks all kind of ass!"

"Yeah, she does, but she shouldn't have to do it alone. Blaine is _my_ kid, too, Puck, and I am _not_ letting him down! You have no idea what I'd do for him!"

"Everything except pick up a gun."

"And what's that going to do? If I'm a Marine, or if I'm a pilot, what's that going to do?" Mike stood up. "So maybe I shoot some toasters. Maybe I get a few raiders. Great. Whoopee. But maybe one of them shoots me down first. And then what happens? Do you know what happens when kids don't have someone watching out for them in this Fleet? Do you have any idea of the kinds of things people are capable of doing? There was a frakking child prostitution ring!"

"There's no way-"

"There is too a way! Tina and I had a kid who'd been stuck in it! We couldn't even begin to help her, the poor kid was so messed up. We've probably had others, too, and just not known it."

"But there's Tina, and there's the rest of us. We'd never let something like that happen to Blaine."

"Maybe not," Mike allowed. "But do you know how many kids died of malnutrition during the food shortage? _Twelve_. You know why Blaine wasn't one of them? Because I frakking stole the antibiotics out of Quinn's med kit and sold them for three protein bars!" Something like respect flashed in Puck's eyes, but Mike was too angry to care. "Think about it, Puck. Think about what all the kids in this Fleet go through. These are little kids, and the only life they know has been New Caprica and life in spaceships. They've got Cylons after them, they've hardly got any toys, they don't have a place to really play. You have no idea of how many abused kids we see, because their parents can't handle this frakking pressure and powerlessness and they need something to take it out on. I am _not_ leaving Blaine to a life like that. And what about when he gets older? Who's going to teach him if I die? Who's going to help him grow up? It's not just my duty, Puck. I _want_ to be there for all that. What would you do if Beth was still here?"

Puck reeled back as if Mike had struck him, and Mike realized he was standing with his fists clenched at his sides, half-shouting. But he couldn't back down. Not now, not about this. "Think about Beth, Puck. If she was here now, _what would you do?_ It's not like Finn, where he's defending his parents and a brother that can damn well take care of himself. It's your _kid_. Would you be on _Galactica_ all the time, away from her? Or would you not be willing to let her out of your sight?"

"I'd still be on _Galactica_," Puck ground out, but he didn't look sure at all. "But yeah, I'd be… frak! I don't know! She's not here, okay? So I don't know what I'd do!"

"Exactly. So stop harassing me every turn about enlisting, all right? It's not going to happen. I'm staying with Tina, and most importantly, I'm staying with Blaine. Got it?"

"Fine," Puck growled, nodding tightly. "I'm going to bed." He stomped off, leaving Mike to deal with the fire alone.

Mike poked the fire savagely, scattering the coals and then sloshing water on them. It had been something he and Puck needed to have out, but it still made Mike feel a bit sick to do so. He looked up at the sky, where he could see the ships as little stars, winking in their orbit. He'd give a hell of a lot to be up there with Tina and Blaine right now, settling into their new quarters and putting their lives in order. He wished he could talk to Tina after this argument, and have her lay against his shoulder and reassure him that he was completely right, and that Puck would come around. He wished he could hear Blaine's happy jabber, just to know that he was safe. Most of all he wished that they were all settled someplace, and that none of this who-was-protecting-who stuff would ever matter again.

***

"Good news, Mike," Cally said, tossing him a hose. "We've got two more days on this planet."

"Really? About time." Mike coiled the hose. "I don't suppose we can get anymore of those fish before we leave, can we?"

"Not likely. Besides, we've got this history lesson to deal with." She pointed up the cliff with her chin.

"What _is_ up there?" Mike asked. He'd heard a lot of rumors since Tyrol had come back down the cliff, but nothing certain.

"It's a temple."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. Galen's sure of it, too. And there really is an aura of something… something _old_." Cally looked reverent. Mike looked up the cliff again at the area where the supposed temple stood. "It's really something to see. Do you want to come up next time?"

"Sure. Why not?" He wasn't sure he believed it was actually a temple, but it was something different to do.

The outside of the temple didn't look like anything special- just a big, craggy rock- but inside was a different story. There was a huge, thick column dominating the center of the room, and a platform with a red, yellow, and blue circle pattern to one side. But there was no doubt that this building was man-made. Mike had heard the reports about the map that had been found on Kobol, and never been sure exactly what he thought about that. He'd seen the Lion's Head Nebula from the window of a ship. But standing inside the Temple of Five, seeing it with his own eyes and touching the ancient stones with his hands was different.

Mike had always believed in the Gods. He'd been dedicated to Athena at birth and gone to temple most weeks. Belief in the Gods had come easily enough, and it made sense to him. But he'd never really believed in everything in the Scrolls. Gods were easy enough to believe in, but miracles and prophecies and thirteenth tribes were a lot harder.

"This is real," he said out loud. "It's really real." The feeling swelled up in him. "_Earth_ is really real."

"I know, right?" Cally came to stand beside him. "After two years and New Caprica, sometimes it's hard to remember that there's really something out there that we're looking for."

"I wonder what it's going to be like." Mike laid a hand on the stone. Was it his imagination that it felt warm and pulsing instead of cool? Probably, but he didn't care. "What do you think they look like? Or the cities? Or the-

"FRAK!" Tyrol shut off his walkie-talkie and gestured around urgently. "Get everything packed up," he ordered. "We've got to get back to the base camp. Cylons."

_Cylons._ Mike's eyes widened and his heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach. Cylons, and they were not on the safety of a ship. Cylons coming down to the planet, and he was here and Tina and Blaine were on the _Galactica_ and if the Cylons killed him here he would never see them again and if they jumped away he'd be left under their thumb like New Caprica and-

"Mike," Cally said, touching his shoulder. "Let's get the stuff and go."

He snapped out of his panic enough to start gathering things up. His body was moving mechanically and his heart was pounding, but nothing was blowing up. Tyrol was over the walkie-talkie again, and although Mike couldn't hear half the conversation and didn't understand another quarter of it, he didn't seem too panicked. Mike took a deep breath and slung a bag over his shoulder. After all, all they had to do was get down to the Raptors. Then they'd get back up the Fleet, jump away, and be safe. That was the mantra he repeated to himself the entire way back down the hill, towards the base camp.

To his surprise, the quonset huts were still up when they reached the bottom of the hill, although it looked like further progress had been made in packing up the vacuum equipment. Marines were out with their flack vests on and rifles slung over shoulders, and the officers were carrying weapons as well. But there was something about the way that people moved that told Mike that they weren't getting on the Raptors and fleeing right now.

"What's going on?" he asked Puck.

Puck was loading his gun. "Toasters," he said. "But the Old Man wants the Eye of Jupiter that's in the temple. Did you guys find it?"

"I didn't know we were looking for it," Mike said. He squinted back up the hill at the temple. From here, it was almost impossible to see it. "What's it look like?"

"Got me. Gunny says that Chief's gonna look around some more, and we're gonna hold the bastards off. Although from what I hear, they want the Eye, too."

Mike swallowed hard around the lump of fear forming in his throat. "So what's that mean?"

"For you? Don't know. But there're only a couple Raptors down here, and anyone taking off right now just gives the Cylons a nice big fat target to shoot at. So we're stuck here."

"Shit." Mike was trying not to panic again.

Puck saw it. "Look. You know how you told me you've got your job? Well, this is mine. This is what I do. And I'll keep you safe and get you back up there." He clapped a hand on Mike's shoulder. "Promise."

Mike didn't believe it, but he believed Puck meant it, so when Puck held his fist up, Mike bumped it. It was all good faith, and these days, that was all anyone could ask for anymore.

***

It was the chrome jobs. Mike saw the flash of silver first, and then the huge, stiff robots marching through one of the ravines. They were the ones he had nightmares about. They were the ones that shot people. Not that the skin jobs were so much better, but the chrome jobs… there was nothing human about them. They were cold and mechanical and efficient and deadly and they marched through the New Caprica streets, sending everyone scurrying to their tents. They sent chills down Mike's back.

He had no idea how they were going to get off this planet alive.

***

Mike's job was to help distribute ammunition. Early in the day it wasn't too bad, dividing up the firepower and taking it from one end of camp to the other. But as the confrontation between humans and Cylons stretched on, it got harder.

There was a group still up at the Temple of Five, searching for the Eye of Jupiter. There was also a group a little further down the hill, waiting to blow up the Temple if the Eye of Jupiter couldn't be found, just to keep it from falling into Cylon hands. There were groups guarding the base camp, and a small group of Marines led by Sergeant Nowart holding the high pass. Nowart had wired down and said they were holding off some chrome jobs, and their ammo was running low. Mike had been handed the orders to deliver some to them.

Most of his journey up to the high pass was out of anyone's notice. He ended up scaling rocks and crawling through underbrush, so he didn't come in contact with any Cylons. But the last hundred yards was a nightmare. The Marines gave him cover, but it was still terrifying. Running towards the outpost with the sound of gunfire all forcibly reminded him of escaping from New Caprica. Mike couldn't decide if this was better or worse, only having to worry about his own safety, and not a dozen kids. The Marines were behind a cluster of boulders. Mike sprinted the last few yards and flung himself behind the cover the rocks provided, falling on the soft ground.

Nowart spared him a glance. "What have you got?"

"Ammunition," Mike gasped, handing it over.

Nowart grunted at him and snatched up a clip belt. He jammed it into his rifle with a deftness that indicated long practice and began firing. Mike got down and began laying out the other things that Anders had sent with him.

"Awesome!" Puck said, snatching one up. "Grenades!"

Mike hadn't realized he was carrying grenades. Maybe that was just as well, because he would have been more afraid to run than he had been. "How are we doing?"

"Well, we've got the high ground, and they aren't getting past us to that Temple yet." Puck saw the look on Mike's face. "Don't worry. We'll get back down. That's what Marines _do_. We blow the shit out of these guys so we can get where we need to go."

"Right. So what should I do now?"

"Just sit tight," Nowart ordered him. "You're not going to get down to the camp safely." His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the situation. "Wish they'd just blow the Temple already."

"Here." Puck tossed Mike a rifle. "Might as well make yourself useful."

"Puck, I've never fired a gun in my life."

Puck shrugged. "Just point the barrel that way and pull the trigger. Worst that can happen is you hit a rock."

"Right. Worst that can happen," Mike muttered, laying down on the ground next to Puck. It was going to be a miracle if he got out of this alive.

***

The radio crackled, and Nowart snatched up the receiver. "Get back to the base camp," Tyrol ordered. "Admiral says it's time to get everyone off this rock. We're blowing the Temple."

"Yes, sir." Nowart ended the transmission. "You heard the Chief," he said. "It's time to get out of here."

"Great, sir," one of the other Marines said. "How? We've got a shitload of chrome jobs down there trying to blow us to bits."

"I'm working on that." Nowart crawled over and started sifting through what was left of the ammunition that Mike had brought.

Puck looked over his shoulder. "We're out of grenades," he said.

"I told you to stop using them."

"I like grenades."

"Yeah, I know." Nowart made a face.

Mike pushed forward a duct-tape wrapped bundle. "Anders sent this bomb."

Nowart picked it up, and as he did, the trigger fell off. "Frak. Useless civilian-made shit. What the hell good is it unless there's a trigger?"

"Still plenty good," Puck offered, still shooting at Cylons.

"We aren't to that point yet." Nowart pushed his hair back and studied the bomb. Mike wished he could suggest some brilliant solution, but nothing came to mind. After a few minutes of thinking, Nowart swore and put the bomb down, then crawled over to Puck and studied the layout of the landscape. He swore again.

"Sarge?" Tyrol's voice came from the walkie-talkie. "Just got it in from the Old Man- we've got to get out of here fast."

"Cylons?"

"No. Something worse."

"What could be worse than Cylons?"

"The frakking sun is about to go supernova."

Nowart snorted. "Right. And I'm a Scorpian jet pilot."

"I'm serious. It's the Old Man, Nowart. He's not gonna frakking joke about something like this."

"Shit. How much time do we have?"

"Less than an hour."

"Frak." Nowart looked paler, and when he clicked off the walkie-talkie, Mike had a bad feeling. Nowart surveyed the scene again. The Centurions weren't giving any ground.

"Not like the toasters care about them, right?" Puck said. "They're just robots. They aren't going anywhere."

"Yeah," Nowart said, and his face hardened. "We've only got one option. Someone's going to have to take the tylium bomb in."

The silence was only a couple of seconds long, but to Mike, it seemed to stretch for an eternity. His mouth was dry and his heart was pounding and _oh Gods_ he really did not want to die. He wasn't going to- this couldn't be real. Someone would come up with something different and they'd get out of here and-

"I'll do it," Puck said.

Mike gaped at him, ready to protest, but Puck didn't look at him. His gaze was fixed on Nowart. Nowart closed his eyes for a long moment, and then opened them. "You sure about this, Puckerman?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Mike found his voice. "Puck! What the frak? You can't- you- NO! You can't do this!"

"We're not getting out of here unless someone does," Puck said. "You can see that clear as I can."

"There's got to be another way," Mike protested. "We can figure something out. Puck, don't do this."

"Make sure he gets to the ship," Puck ordered Nowart as Nowart set the bomb. Mike's throat was closing fast. Puck looked at him. "Take care of the Blainester, okay? Make sure he grows up enough to blow a few toasters up for me. Got it?"

"Puck-"

"And tell Lauren… never mind. Lauren will know." He clapped Mike on the upper arm, and then looked at Nowart. "You guys ready? Because I'm only doing this once."

"We're ready." Nowart's face was expressionless.

"I'm serious. No matter what, get him to the ship."

"We will. Good luck, soldier."

"You too." Nowart handed him the bomb and Puck took a deep breath.

"Puck! No, wait-" Mike cried, but it was too late. With a primal sort of yell, Puck vaulted over the rocks and down the slope. One moment he was running and the next moment there was sound and light and heat from an explosion, and Nowart was pushing Mike and yelling for him to go, go, GO. Mike's legs started running without him realizing it. He kept looking over his shoulder as he ran, staring at the flames from the explosion.

They plummeted down the steep trail towards the base camp. Mike's lungs were on fire and he kept twisting his ankles, but no bullets came flying after them. Puck must have done a number on the squadron. Mike faltered, and Nowart pushed his shoulder roughly again.

They finally made it to the base camp, which was now mostly gone. The quonset huts, the equipment, the people…. All that was left were fire pits.

Two Raptors landed, and the hatch opened. "Hurry the frak up!" Mathias shouted, waving them in. "The entire place is going supernova!" Someone shoved Mike again, and he tripped into the Raptor, sprawling across the floor. He managed to pull his legs up against him so others could get on, but he couldn't catch his breath. His lungs were still burning and he was gulping air and he couldn't breathe.

The hatch shut and the floor began to vibrate as the engines fired up. The Raptor lifted off, but Mike couldn't see a thing from where he was sitting- only the vinyl of the bucket seats in front of him.

"Strap in." The order came from somewhere above his head. Mike didn't move, and Nowart sighed and knelt down. "Strap in," he ordered again, and when Mike still didn't move, he began doing the straps roughly. "I promised Puckerman we'd get you to the ship," he said, his voice hoarse. "And I'm getting you back up there if it kills me."

Mike found his voice, at least enough to croak out a few syllables. "Puck… he…."

"He made his choice," Nowart said, thumping down into a seat and doing his own straps. "And he died with honor, as a Marine. That's more than most people get these days."

Mike wanted to argue, to say that it wasn't possible, but there was something about the set of Nowart's face that forbade it. Besides, his voice wouldn't work again. He subsided into miserable silence.

Puck was dead. For him.

***

"Mike!"

Mike only had a second to glimpse at Mercedes and Santana holding Tina back, then she was throwing them both off and running down the stairs to the deck at a breakneck speed. She flew across the deck and threw her arms around her neck, and he immediately hugged her close, grateful for the solid feel and the familiar smell of her next to him. Because Gods help him, he _owed_ Puck for this. This was what Puck had given him- the chance to hold Tina in his arms again, the chance to be a father to Blaine.

"You made it back," Tina was crying. "I was so afraid you wouldn't make it back."

"I'm here. Where's Blaine?" he asked.

"In the nursery. I didn't want him down here just in case- oh, Mike! When we heard about the supernova and the Cylons we were just so terrified! I was so sure I was never going to see you again."

"I know." He cupped her cheek, his fingers playing with a tendril of her hair. "You are so beautiful," he said, because right now her face… her face was the only thing he could see. He hugged her again, wishing he never had to let her go.

But he had to. Because Mercedes and Santana weren't the only ones with Tina. Lauren was standing there in her BDUs, arms crossed as she scanned the faces. Her eyes met Mike's.

"Puckerman?"

Mike couldn't answer.

"Frak." Lauren took two steps back. "Frak!" She turned away, punching the wall. "_FRAK!_"

Her voice echoed off the walls of the bay, and people fell silent as they realized what was happening. Mike was shaking, and Mercedes and Santana both took a step forward. Lauren evaded them both, then took a deep breath, and then another, and as she did, she calmed down. Her knuckles were still bleeding from where she'd struck the wall. She wasn't crying, but it was clear she was breaking. Mike had no idea what to say.

Lauren drew herself up and wiped her bloody knuckles on her pants. "The body?" she asked.

"There wasn't one," Mike said. "We were pinned down and he set off a bomb."

A grim little half-smile tugged at the corner of Lauren's mouth. "So he took some of them with him?"

"A lot of them." Mike swallowed. "He saved our lives. A lot of our lives. He saved _my_ life."

Lauren nodded as if she'd already known it. "And don't you dare forget it," she ordered him. She took another deep breath, looked around, then started away without another word.

"Should we follow her?" Tina asked.

Santana snorted. "Not you losers. I'm going after her, though. Mercedes, you stay here with the lovebirds and make sure they don't fall apart." Santana headed after Lauren. Mike wanted to go, too, no matter what Santana said, because he _owed_ it to Puck. He had to… he had to… what the hell could he say to Lauren, of all people?

"Mike?" Tina was calling him. "Mike? Are you okay? Physically, I mean?"

Mike snapped back to where he was. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He rubbed his hand across his face. "I know I should get a shower first, but then I want to see Blaine, okay?"

"Okay." Tina was watching him warily, like he might explode. "Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you made it back."

The worst of it was that he felt this overwhelming relief. "Yeah," he said tiredly. "Me, too."

***

He stood in the shower, washing away the grime and stink of the planet, the dust and blood of battle. If he'd been back in his house on Gemenon, the water would have been cold by the time he stepped out.

Would Puck have volunteered to carry that bomb in if Mike hadn't been there? Probably not. Possibly. But then, Puck was close with the Marines, too. Maybe he would have. It was impossible to know for sure. But he had his suspicions, and nothing would shake them.

He wished he knew what you were supposed to do next when someone died for you.

***

That night, he held Blaine close, rocking him in their tiny storage closet of a room, singing softly. Blaine's head rested on his shoulder, and his little hand closed around Mike's shirt. Blaine was safe. And when Mike closed his eyes, he was sure he could see Puck smile.

***

The funeral was held in an airlock that was maintained especially for that purpose. It was the same place that Blaine's funeral had been held, but it looked different this time. For one, there were two coffins, one for a Marine whose body had been recovered, and one for a service member who'd died on _Galactica_ from their wounds. There were also five flags, now being folded. Mike had wondered how they still had flags at this late date, and then later regretted it when Mercedes told him that there were enough flags aboard the _Galactica_ to lay her entire crew to rest.

The Marines finished folding the flag, and the flag ended up in the hands of Sergeant Nowart. He approached Lauren with measured steps, knelt down in front of her, and extended the flag. "On behalf of the President of Colonies, the Colonial Fleet, and the grateful people of the Colonies, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service." The words were formal and stiff, but the expression on Nowart's face made it clear that he considered presenting this flag an honor. Lauren took the flag and Nowart stood up and saluted her. Lauren saluted back, but she stared forward, a dead look in her eyes.

They couldn't really sing during the funeral, because it was a formal military event and they hadn't been asked. But as they left the airlock, Mike found the words echoing in his mind, and next to him, he heard Finn humming the tune. Artie started singing first, but the others joined in quickly.

_Beth, I hear you calling, but I can't come home right now.  
Me and the boys are playing, and we just can't find the sound.  
Just a few more hours and I'll be right home to you  
I think I hear them calling, oh Beth, what can I do?_

They sang it together, in unison, all of New Directions, as they walked away from the airlock. _Just a few more hours and I'll be right home to you. He's with Beth,_ Mike told himself. _He's with Beth, and he'll be able to protect her forever._

It was a lovely thought, but it didn't make the funeral any easier.

***

The picture was one that had been taken on _Galactica_, with Puck in tanks and holding a gun and smiling. Finn went with Mike to hang it in the Memorial Hallway. Mike had thought it would be more of a ceremony, but apparently, that wasn't the way it was done.

They took Blaine with them, and when they got to the spot where the other New Directions pictures hung, Finn held Blaine up and Mike helped him pin the picture in the right spot. Blaine patted the picture lovingly when he was done.

"Does he get it?" Finn asked as they left the hallway. "Does he understand what's happening?"

"Not really." Mike sighed. "Death's a pretty hard concept to someone who's only a little over a year old."

"It's a pretty hard concept to someone who's twenty-one," Finn said somberly.

Mike nodded. "The worst thing is that he'll forget him. Puck died for him, and he'll forget him. He'll know what he looks like and Tina and I will tell him stories, but he won't _remember_ Puck. I wish he would."

"Yeah. I know exactly what you mean." Finn frowned. "But Blaine'll still love him. I know that. I love my Dad."

Mike nodded and unconsciously hugged Blaine closer. "You'll always know about Uncle Puck," he told him. "Always."

***

The daycare on the _Galactica_ was infinitely nicer than anything they'd had on the _Cybele_. There were also about five times the number of kids, and daycare workers were often expected to be on at odd hours if there was an attack. The faster pace and the number of kids reminded Mike pleasantly of New Caprica, and Blaine was absorbed happily into the mesh of children. In some ways it was so different than the _Cybele_, but there were some things that would always be the same.

"CYLON!" Mike went down under a swarm of kids.

With a lot of tickling, wrestling, and drama, Mike ended up sprawled across the floor, tongue lolling out to one side, limbs askew. "Get up!" one little girl said, beating on his chest. "You have to resurrect. Get _up_!"

"Cylons take thirty-six hours to resurrect," Mike told her. He cracked one eye open to see her face, and then said, "but _zombie_ Cylons… ARGH!" He jumped to his feet and lurched after the delighted kids, who squealed and scattered.

"Brains…. BRAINS…." Mike scooped one little boy up and pretended to eat him as he shuffled around the room, his face contorted into a grotesque mask.

And, of course, that was how he met the Agathons.

***

The Agathons were intimidating. The husband, Karl, was huge and a captain and looked like it, with a stiff face and a crisp uniform. But the wife, Sharon, was even more terrifying. She was an Eight. Mike had heard about her, the Cylon that changed sides, but he was unprepared for how it would feel to face her directly. So instead of looking at her, he studied the kid. Hera Agathon didn't look any different from any other little girl, even though she was half-Cylon. Mike couldn't help wondering if there was a potty training subroutine you could activate, though. It would make things so much easier. He forced his mind away from that and back to the couple sitting in front of them.

"We want her to get used to all of the daycare facilitators before we start leaving her," Sharon was explaining. "She's had a very traumatic experience, and she doesn't really trust anyone yet."

"You were mentioning health problems as well?" Tina asked, making a note on her pad. She looked cool and unworried, but Mike knew her well enough to know that it was a façade.

"She just had surgery to correct a blocked intestine," Sharon said. She went on to explain the details, but Mike found that he wasn't really listening. Hera peeked out from her mother's shoulder and met Mike's eyes. He forced a smile, and she smiled back. Just a little, shy smile, just like any other shy baby. Just like Blaine would do if it was someone he didn't know. She was just a little girl. Mike relaxed, and his smile became more genuine. He'd been playing with a little stuffed bunny and now he held it out to her. Hera hesitated, then reached out and took the bunny. Naturally, it promptly went in her mouth. Mike laughed.

"She likes you," Sharon said.

Mike shrugged. "Hope so. She's cute."

"She's normally very shy. Would you mind seeing if she'll come to you? It would make me feel better."

"Of course. Want to come here, sweetie?" Mike held his hands out and made a face at Hera. Hera considered him for a moment, and then leaned over. Sharon let her go, and Mike held her against him. She felt exactly like any other child.

"Wow," Karl said, watching them. "I've never seen her go that easily to anyone."

"Well, Mike's good with kids," Tina said proudly. She reached out to pat Hera, but Hera flinched away. Tina pulled her hand back. "If you'd like," she said, covering up her stung pride, "I can give you a tour of the daycare."

"Yeah, I can do that." Karl got to his feet. "You want to stay here with her?" he asked Sharon.

"I think it's best, just in case." Sharon and Karl passed some unspoken message between them with their eyes, then Karl nodded and went with Tina, leaving Mike alone with Hera and Sharon.

"So," Mike said, trying to cover up the awkwardness he felt. "Is there anything else we should know about her? Things that set her off?"

"We're not sure. She's only been home for a week or so." Mike looked at her, confused, and Sharon sighed. "To make a very long story short, she was kidnapped, most recently by the Cylons."

"How'd you get her back?" It occurred to Mike that that might be a rude question. "I'm sorry. I-"

"No, it's okay." Sharon took a deep breath, like this was some sort of test. "Karl shot me, and I resurrected on the base star when we were in orbit around the algae planet. That was how I was able to get her."

Mike's eyes widened. "He _shot_ you?"

"Well, yeah."

Mike tried to imagine it. He could see himself standing there in that little room that he and Tina were now sharing, begging her to shoot him because it would be the only way to get Blaine. And he immediately knew that if Tina wouldn't do it, he'd take the gun from her and shoot himself. Absolutely. Unconsciously, his arms tightened around Hera. "Yeah," he said. "I'd do the same thing." He met Sharon's eyes, and she didn't seem quite so scary. "I'd do the exact same thing."

A little smile played at the corner of Sharon's lips. "I'm glad you'll be taking care of Hera," she said, reaching out and stroking her daughter's hair. "I'm glad you're on the _Galactica_."

"Yeah," Mike said, looking down at the girl who had been placed in his care. "Me too."

***

Mike didn't set out looking for Lauren, but he knew he'd find her in the rec room all the same. He wasn't surprised to see her with Santana, drinking and playing cards.

"Oh, fine," Lauren said when she saw Mike standing by their table. "Let's get this over with. Deal him in, Santana." Santana obeyed, and Mike sat down wordlessly, picking up his hand. It was shit, but he rearranged the cards anyway.

"So how'd he get the truck?" Santana asked Lauren, playing her card and picking up the conversation that Mike had interrupted.

"He hot-wired it. How else? You should have seen Anders' face when he did it." Lauren made a distorted, startled face, and Santana smirked. "I tried to tell Anders that my boyfriend has a criminal element, but he said he didn't think I meant it literally. Just that he was badass."

"Idiot," Santana said, and Mike played one of his shit cards and drew one that was slightly better.

"So then," Lauren continued, tossing out her own card, "after we dropped the weapons under Hummel's shop, we had to run through the city to get back to the tent, and we got caught by a Three. You should have seen Noah. He knows we've got no excuse, so he decides to turn on the charm and tell her we're out looking for a threesome partner, and asked her to join us."

Santana screamed with laughter. "He thought that his skills in bed would get her to let you guys go?"

"He has improved," Lauren said dryly. "And I'm pretty damn good myself."

"Right." Santana snorted.

"So did the Three go for it?" Mike asked. He was aware that both girls were thrown for a second, but he just played his next card.

"Nah," Lauren said finally. "But I guess he made her laugh or something, because she let us go. Figures. Puckerman always had that kind of luck. Lucky for us."

Mike picked up the bottle and poured himself a glass. "Remember that time on New Caprica when you and Puck watched Blaine for the first time and tried to let me and Tina sleep?"

Lauren had just taken a drink, and practically snorted it out her nose. "Don't do that to me, Cohen-Chang."

"What happened?" Santana asked.

Lauren began relaying the story of Puck trying to change Blaine's diaper for the first time. Mike was pretty sure she was embellishing some details, but he didn't correct her. He just let the story wash over him, bringing Puck back for a few minutes. The diaper story was followed up other stories until the bottle was nearly empty and the cubits were redistributed across the table.

"In a way," Lauren said finally, after Santana had divided the last of the liquor into their glasses, "I hate him."

"Why?" Mike asked.

"He got out on his own terms. He saved you. I want to be able to say that. That when I die, it changes something for somebody."

"No kidding. When I go, I'm taking at least one toaster with me." Santana kicked Mike under the table. "So will you."

Mike snorted. "Me? Not likely."

"Of course it's likely, nursemaid. You're so attached to those ankle biters that if you die, it's going to be because someone threatened one of them. You're like a mama bear."

"Or a mongoose," Lauren offered.

"Exactly." Santana seemed to feel this proved her point.

"It's better than other ways to die, anyway," Lauren continued, turning her glass around. "I'd rather die fighting than of radiation poisoning or in prison. And at least this way, I know he's really dead."

Mike and Santana exchanged glances. She rolled her eyes, but Mike got what Lauren was saying. Kurt hadn't gotten really messed up until Blaine came back to the _Galactica_ and died again, and Sam… Mike didn't really know what all was going on in Sam's head, except that Rya had been in that prison and no one had found her.

"At least he's not a Cylon," Mike said finally.

"As far as we know. There are still five models out there that we haven't seen," Santana said. "And it would explain a lot."

"Explain Beth then," Mike said.

"Okay. Maybe not."

"Of course not. That would mean he's still out there somewhere, and I'm not that lucky." Lauren put her empty glass down and stood up, wobbling slightly. "I'm going to bed."

"Yeah, me too. See you later, Mongoose." Santana followed.

Mongoose. Mike had a feeling that Santana would never call him anything else again, and to his surprise, the thought made him smile. It was like having a call sign, and it was one that fit. He wobbled to his feet, steadied himself, and headed home to his wife and son.


	12. If We Worked Hard, If We Behaved

"Baltar's alive." Xeno Fenner slapped the paper down on Carole's desk.

"Don't frak with me," Carole said tiredly. "I've got two hours before my ride comes, and I'm _not_ missing my shift off. Let's get this meeting over with and get you back to the _Hitei Kan_ without the bad jokes."

"I'm not joking, Hudson. Baltar's alive. Haven't you looked at a paper?"

Carole sighed and pulled the paper towards her. The picture on the front stopped her cold. There, in all his long-haired, bedraggled glory, was Gaius Baltar. "You've got to be frakking kidding me."

"Nope. They found him back on the algae planet, apparently. He's been on board since."

"And not out an airlock?" Carole scanned the article. It was an account of Baltar's discovery, arrest, and imprisonment, and plans for his future. "A trial? They're really giving him a trial?"

Xeno shrugged. "If they weren't going to, I don't think we'd know they had him in the first place."

Carole wasn't so sure about that. There were a lot of people in the Fleet who would love to know that Baltar had been pushed out an airlock, starting with herself. But on the other hand, it was rather reassuring that their government wasn't having criminals secretly killed. The Cylons had done enough of that. In the end it was what it was, and Carole had more immediate things on her mind.

"Well," she said, tossing the paper aside, "guess that's that. So what did you want to talk to me about? I assume it wasn't Baltar."

"No." Xeno looked more serious now as he sat down across from her. "It's the catalyst beds. Ours is shot."

Carole sighed and rubbed her temple. This was _not_ what she wanted to be dealing with two hours before she was due to go back to the _Cybele_. Hell, this was not what she'd wanted to deal with _ever_. Two years ago, she wouldn't have had any idea of what a catalyst bed even was. But now she knew all too well. "Why are you talking to me about this? Why not Grayson? He heads the whole frakking operation over here, go bug him."

"Because I thought I'd soften you up first. Grayson listens to you."

Carole snorted. "About work schedules and line management, not about the technical side of things. It's the people I'm good with, Xeno, not the reactors."

"Whatever. Look, Carole," Xeno said, leaning in. "I know you've got two up and running. We need to borrow one until the hot shot chemist types over on the _Persephone_ can synthesize enough of the zeolite for us. It will be four weeks, tops."

"So you say. And what are we going to do without it for four weeks? You think the Fleet's going to like it if algae processing slows down?"

"You think it'll be a good thing if fuel refining comes to a complete stop?"

Carole sat back heavily. This was going to be a long, miserable conversation that she wasn't going to win. For a moment she considered just conceding now, but then Fenner would think it was too easy to get what his ship needed. She surreptitiously looked at the clock. She had to argue for an hour, then she could start agreeing to things, then get off this ship and go home. With an inward sigh, Carole turned her attention to Fenner. One more hour, and then she was free.

***

The _Daru Mozu_ had changed functions since the beginning of the journey, from tylium refining to algae processing, but the smell of tylium mingled with metal continued to hang in the air. Carole had always kind of liked the smell- it reminded her of her job in the engine factory back on Gememon, and had given her a sense of home. Her headache now reminded her of the first time she'd smelled it, and the resultant headaches she'd gotten until she'd grown used to it. That had been over twenty years ago. Carole rubbed her temples as she left the small, cluttered office and stopped by her quarters- a claustrophobic room that she shared with two other people. She grabbed the bag she had packed and then headed down to find Sam.

Sam lived in a cavernous room that had previously been used for storage. Instead of cots, thick canvas had been used to make hammocks. Carole headed for one in the far corner, where Sam was lying back in his hammock, hands on his chest and one foot on the floor, eyes closed.

"Sam." Carole nudged his foot with her own. "Sam. Sam, honey, wake up." She leaned over and shook him gently. She'd learned the hard way that Sam had a tendency to wake up panicked. "Sam. Come on."

Sam's eyes blinked open. "Huh? What's going on?"

"It's time to go. Finn will be here any minute."

"Oh." Sam closed his eyes again. "I'm not going."

Carole laughed. "Of course you're going."

"No I'm not. I told Jayla she could have my shift off and I'd work hers."

"Sam! That's the third time you've done this. You need a shift off."

Sam shrugged, eyes still closed. "Why? What's the point of taking a shift off? Rya's not here."

"But you still have friends and family who would like to see you, and you need the rest."

"I'll get sleep."

"But-"

"Carole, Jayla hasn't had a day off in two months. I'm going to work for her."

Carole bit her lip. On the one hand, Sam looked terrible. His cheekbones seemed more pronounced and he looked wan and tired. On the other hand, so did everyone else, and Carole knew the schedules weren't… well, they weren't ideal. Even her own shifts off had become a lot fewer and further between since New Caprica. She glanced at her watch. "All right," she said, capitulating. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure." Sam opened his eyes. "I'll be fine, Carole. Really."

"You'd better be." She leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Make sure you get some sleep."

"That's what I was doing before you woke me up. See you in a few days, Carole."

"See you then."

***

"So he's not coming?" Finn asked.

"Not coming," Carole said, tossing her overnight bag into the back of the Raptor. "I'm worried about him, Finn."

"Because he's not coming?" Finn seemed confused.

"Partly. But he just seems… off."

"Yeah, well, he has ever since Rya didn't come back up."

"Before that, really." That damned detention center. It had messed up both Kurt and Sam. If Carole could go back to New Caprica and bomb the shit out of it, she would, even if the Cylons weren't in it. She sighed and changed the subject. "How are things over on _Galactica_?"

"Not bad, I guess." Finn shrugged.

"Any more talk about promoting you to lieutenant?"

"Not yet. But I've only been in the service three years, and I shouldn't have started at ensign. I mean, I never went to college or anything."

Which was a fair enough point. Of course, one could argue that that was exactly why promotion mattered so much anyway- it was the only reward that could be given. But Finn didn't seem too bothered, so Carole sat back and held her tongue. After all, she firmly reminded herself, it wasn't like she could promote everyone who deserved it on the _Daru Mozu_, either. She decided to change the subject. "How are things with Rachel?"

Finn grinned. "Good, I guess. Yeah, really good. Rachel's not as crazy from New Caprica as some people are, so things are good."

"Lovely, Finn," Carole said dryly. There were forms of revenge, though. "So. When am I going to be a grandmother?"

Usually, that question would have had Finn sitting bolt upright, eyes wide and panicking. But instead, Finn just shrugged. "We've talked about it."

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. We've been together for a long time, and a lot of the stuff that was a problem on Gemenon just isn't anymore, I guess. But we want to get to Earth first. I mean, I know what it's like to not have a dad growing up, you know? As long as I'm in the service…." He trailed off, shrugging. Carole was glad. She really didn't need the visual.

"Is it bothering you?" Finn asked.

"Huh? What?"

"Your shoulder. You're rubbing it. Does it hurt?"

"Oh." Carole hadn't even realized she was doing it. "It gets a little sore sometimes, but not much. Just a nervous habit, I guess."

"What are you nervous about?"

"What's _not_ to be nervous about?" Carole retorted. Finn snorted, and they rode the rest of the way in silence.

***

The food on the _Cybele_ left a lot to be desired, but the dining company was first rate. For a little while, Carole was able to forget about the _Daru Mozu_ and all the problems that awaited her when she went back. No matter what changed, no matter how many shifts she worked, no matter what was taken away and how many Cylons chased them across how many galaxies, she still had her family. Carole was aware of just how profoundly lucky she was.

After dinner, Burt took Finn down to the New Directions room to see some of the others. Carole sat down on the couch next to Kurt. "How are you doing?" she asked, nudging him with her shoulder. Like everyone, he felt thinner than he had before, but he was still there.

Kurt shrugged. "All right, I guess, compared to where I was a few months ago. Dr. Wong is trying to ease me off the meds."

"Really? That's good, isn't it?"

"No," Kurt said with a sigh. "That's necessary. There's a limited supply of the meds left. I'm still having flashbacks, but I'm not having as many, so…." He trailed off and shrugged. Carole noticed he was rubbing his fingers together, a nervous habit that he'd picked up since he got out of detention. She stomped down hard on the compulsion to take his hands in hers and make him stop- she'd done that once before and the result had not been pretty.

"And what about… Puck?"

"Actually, I'm doing okay with that," Kurt said. "I mean, I miss him, like everyone else, but it's different than it was with Blaine or even Brit. Or maybe I'm just more used to people dying by now." He laughed lightly as if it was a joke, but Carole didn't think it was. "How's Finn handling it?"

"I guess all right. He doesn't talk about it much."

"How are _you_ handling it?" Kurt asked, turning and facing her with such a direct look that it took Carole aback.

"Me? I'm sad, but I guess…." Carole trailed off and shrugged. "I don't have the luxury of not handling it." And not thinking about it much was the only way she could cope with having a son in the Fleet. "It's busy on the _Daru Mozu_."

"So I hear." Kurt was slipping out of stepson mode and into government. "Did I hear something about possible delays in output?"

"We're down a catalyst bed. Not much we can do about it, so I'm told."

Kurt sighed. "You know that's not going to go over well with the President."

"I know. But what can you do? If the President wants to come over and run the lines herself, she's more than welcome." Carole decided to change the subject back to what really worried her. "Kurt? Are you sure you're going to be okay? Going off meds?"

"I guess. I don't have much of a choice, and Dr. Wong said if I get worse, he'll make my case to go back on." He smiled and laid his hand over hers. "I'm not going to kill myself. The most that will happen is I'll descend into madness, with elegant smoking and maybe some drug use, ala Caroline Houston." He laughed lightly. It was a terrible joke, and really quite tasteless if you thought about it, but Carole was relieved. Maybe Kurt really _was_ getting better. She squeezed his hand.

"Just take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will."

***

One of the nicest things about coming over to the _Cybele_ was the way that New Directions often met up at the end of the day, just to sit around and play cards or chat. Right now, a killer game of double-deck Dirty Hearts was in progress in the New Directions room with the Cohen-Changs, Burt and Carole, Will, Shannon, Artie, Quinn, and Kurt. Carole was fairly certain that a lot of cheating was going on.

"So Artie. How are things going with Natalia?" Quinn asked, a sly smile playing at the corner of her mouth as she laid her card.

If she expected Artie to be embarrassed, she was wrong. "How do you think?" he practically purred. "She knows where it's at." Everyone at the table laughed, and Artie's smugness only increased as he played a card that added substantial points to the trick "And I'm sure you're picking up your share of homies over on the _Rising Star._"

"Hardly." Quinn smirked. "Pain isn't exactly attractive."

"Oh, come on. I'm sure there's got to be someone worth finding over there," Tina said, nudging Quinn. "At least worth finding for a little bit."

Quinn sat up primly. "I hardly think-" she began, but was cut off by a sharp knock on the door. Two armed Marines barged in before anyone could answer. Instinctively, Carole lurched to her feet.

The oldest Marine centered in on his target." Quinn Fabray, please come with us."

Quinn didn't stand up. "I'm sorry, what's going on?"

"You're wanted for questioning."

"For what? What did I do? And why are the _Marines_ here? I have nothing to do with the military!"

The Marine's face gave nothing away. "We have our orders, Miss."

Quinn's face hardened. "I'm not going anywhere until I know what this is about."

"You're wanted for questioning on the _Galactica_. Let's go." The Marine grabbed Quinn's arm and pulled. Quinn struggled against him.

"Get your hands off her!" Carole said, stepping forward. Another Marine blocked her way. "You can't do that!"

"Ma'am, I can, and if you all don't stop interfering and let us do our jobs, we'll have no choice but to arrest you, too."

Carole didn't even look at anyone else. She dodged around the Marine blocking her and tried to get nearer to Quinn. "Let go of her." The Marine ignored her, pulling Quinn, who was crying now. Rage swelled up in Carole. "Let go of her now!" She didn't think- she just pushed the Marine.

She didn't push that hard- at least, it didn't feel like it. But the Marine grabbed her wrist and twisted, and before she knew it, there were a pair of cuffs around her own wrists. "I told you to step back," the Marine growled as he grabbed her by the arm. "Now let's go before this becomes an even bigger mess."

"Wait!" Burt jumped to his feet. "That's my wife!"

"And she's interfering with the keeping of the peace."

"It's all right, Burt." Carole tried to calm herself down. The last thing they needed was both of them sitting in some jail cell. "I'll be okay."

"The Vice President will be hearing about this, I assure you." Kurt found his voice, whipping out a pad and jotting something down. Carole viciously hoped he was getting the Marines' names off their uniforms. "And when he does-"

The Marine snorted. "The Admiral gives us our orders. Zarek means nothing. Come on." He pushed Carole. Her eyes met Burt's as she passed him and she smiled as reassuringly as she could. Burt's lips were pressed together so tightly that they were almost invisible, but Shannon had her hand on his shoulder. She'd take care of him. That eased Carole's mind a little, and she let the Marine push her out of the room and to the docking bay.

"Are you all right?" she asked Quinn once they were in the Raptor.

"I'm all right." Quinn took a deep breath and wiped her face with her cuffed hands. "But what could they possibly want with me?"

"I don't know," Carole said, although the word _Cylon_ was definitely coming to her mind. That was ridiculous (although it would explain _so_ much about Quinn's behavior in the past), but there were still five models out there. If that was what Adama thought, it was just as well Carole had come along. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

***

Waiting was exactly what they did. The Marines led them through a maze of corridors and to a holding cell. It wasn't as bad as it could have been; there was a bed, a toilet, and a sink. Quinn relaxed a little, too. "It's not like the cells on New Caprica."

That piqued Carole's interest. Quinn had never talked about the time between when the Cylons arrested her and when she'd been shipped off for execution. "They put you in a cell?"

"Only for a few hours. That was enough." Quinn sat down on the bed.

Carole sat down next to her. She had always wondered just how much the Cylons had questioned Quinn about her involvement in the Resistance, but this was not the time to ask. She decided to focus on the now. "Do you have any idea what they would have arrested you for?"

Quinn shook her head. "I know some of my antibiotics went missing a while ago" she finally suggested. "Although it seems odd that the military would get involved in that."

"It seems odd that the military would get involved at all. There is a civilian peace-keeping force." That was one of the things that was really bothering Carole about all of this. "Would Dr. Robert know?"

"I don't know. He's actually over on _Galactica_ because of the _Thera Sita_ going down. They're bringing everyone onto the _Galactica_, and they asked Dr. Robert to help with the transition. I haven't seen him in a week." Quinn looked defeated.

Carole wished she could tell her it would be all right, but it scared her that they both had no idea why Quinn was there. But the two of them sat in the holding cell, the minutes ticking by into hours.

Finally, the door opened and Admiral Adama stalked in. Carole had rarely seen the man in person, but anyone in the Fleet would be able to recognize him, especially in his uniform. His lined face was hard and distinctive, and maybe even a little bit scary. He was accompanied by Colonel Tigh. Carole almost didn't recognize him at first; he looked so different than he had on New Caprica. He was wearing his uniform, his hair was neatly trimmed instead of long and wild, and he had a patch over his missing eye instead of a dirty bandage. He drew back in surprise when he saw her inside the cell.

"What the frak are you doing here, Hudson?"

Adama consulted the clipboard he was carrying. "By the looks of it, she was interfering with the Marines doing their job." He handed the clipboard to Tigh and focused his attention on Quinn. "You're Quinn Fabray."

Quinn drew herself up, folding her hands in front of her neatly. "I am. And I would like a lawyer present before I answer any other questions."

Carole had to admit that she was impressed at her composure. Adama wasn't someone that you argued with lightly. He fixed his piercing blue eyes on Quinn and frowned. "I don't have time for that."

"But I don't even know what you're accusing me of!" Quinn protested.

"You're being accused of murder."

"Murder?!" Carole jumped to her feet. She'd been prepared for any answer except that. "What the frak-"

"I didn't murder anyone!" Quinn said, her face pale.

"Dr. Robert did."

"He wouldn't!"

"Yeah, that's what we said," Tigh said. "We were wrong."

"I don't understand," Quinn said, looking back and forth between them. "Who would he kill?"

"Patients," Adama said shortly. "Specifically, Sagittarons."

"Sagittarons?" Quinn shook her head. "What do you mean? I know he doesn't like them, but he's never- I mean-" she shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about." She was on the verge of tears. "I don't understand."

"Quinn didn't murder anybody," Carole said with great certainty, putting her hand on Quinn's shoulder.

"Yeah, well, we'll see," Tigh said.

"We're just keeping her here until we can sort this out. I'm not letting her loose on unsuspecting patients," Adama said. "Not until I know that she's completely safe."

"I don't believe this. You really think that she's been killing people?" Adama's face didn't change, so Carole turned to Tigh. "Colonel, you know this is ridiculous. She worked for the Resistance!"

"Yeah, well, that doesn't make someone innocent," Tigh said, glaring at her. "Dr. Robert worked for the Resistance as well. Patched me up after the toasters took my eye. That doesn't mean he wasn't down there injecting Sagittarons full of poison."

"I didn't do that!" Quinn protested, in tears now. Carole couldn't blame her. "I didn't do it!"

"We'll see," Adama said darkly. "Fabray. Let's go." He opened the cell door and ordered Quinn out with a look. Quinn looked back at Carole with panic, but obeyed. Adama closed the grating with a clang and led Quinn out of the room.

"Saul," Carole said, reaching out and catching the sleeve of his uniform. "You can't really think she was killing patients. She's a kid!"

"She's twenty-one. Not much of a kid, Hudson." Tigh pulled away, although not roughly. "Look, we know there's a good chance she's innocent. But we thought that Dr. Robert was innocent, too, and it cost some people their lives because we made that mistake. We can't make that mistake again. We're not letting her go until we're sure."

"But you have no evidence! There's nothing you can hold her on! This can't be legal!"

Tigh shrugged. "The Old Man figures that it's better to detain one person until this is sorted out than to risk someone else dying. And he figures it's better to keep someone who's possibly knowingly defending a killer under watch, as well."

Carole's mouth sagged open. "But I-"

"That's the orders, Hudson." Tigh raised his eyebrows. "And I sure as hell hope you're right about her, or you're both going to be needing that lawyer." With that he turned and walked out, and let the door slam shut behind him.

***

"I didn't do it."

Quinn had been crying for an hour. Carole sat beside her, rubbing her back and trying to find clean portions of the sheet for Quinn to wipe her nose on. She really, really hoped that neither of them were going to have to spend the night in that bed.

"I didn't do it," Quinn repeated. "I would never do something like that."

"I know," Carole said. "You don't have to convince me, Quinn. I believe you."

"Why?" The word practically exploded out of Quinn. "No one else in here does. Why would you?"

"Because I know you," Carole said, refraining from pointing out that 'no one else in here' consisted of Admiral Adama and Colonel Tigh.

"Yes, but you've never liked me. Not that I blame you." Quinn sniffed. "With everything with the baby-"

"That doesn't mean you'd kill someone. It was also a long time ago." Over four years ago, Carole realized with a start. If Beth was still alive, she would be _four_. "Surviving a nuclear holocaust and an occupation makes you let a few things go."

Quinn was silent for a long time. She'd never been a girl who really let people know what she was thinking, but Carole was sure there was a lot going on inside her head. Finally, she took a deep breath and wiped her face one more time, and Carole knew she had herself under control again. "I wonder how long they're going to keep us here. I had patients to see this afternoon."

"And I have to be back over on the _Daru Mozu_ in a few hours," Carole said. "But somehow, I don't think they're going to be overly moved by either of those arguments."

"Carole?"

"Mmm?"

"What's going to happen? If Dr. Robert really did… _that_ and he convinces them that I did, too?"

"They won't believe it."

"What if they do?" Quinn pressed. "They've airlocked people before."

"Not many. We'll get you a lawyer, Quinn. They can't actually do anything to you without a trial." Carole was going to make damn sure of that.

"You don't know that," Quinn said darkly. "After the Exodus from New Caprica-"

"Those are only rumors," Carole said, putting her hand on Quinn's arm. "The stories about people who disappeared… think about when they came, Quinn. Right after New Caprica. Everyone was still scared then. I don't know what's going to happen with this, but we will get you through it, all right? I promise."

Quinn nodded, but Carole could see that she was still terrified. Not that she blamed her, really. After all, they were still sitting in this cell. She sighed and wrapped her arm around Quinn's shoulders. They'd get Quinn out of here, Carole was sure of that, but she might need some help. Fortunately, she had an idea of exactly who to ask.

***

Quinn was asleep when the holding cell door opened, but Carole was on her feet immediately.

"Saul, I want to speak to the Admiral."

Tigh looked up from his keys. "Thought you might say that. Come on." With a clang, he opened the cell door and inclined his head, indicating that she should follow him. With a quick glance back at Quinn's sleeping form, she did.

Tigh led her through the corridors until they came to a door. He didn't bother to knock, which made Carole realize that the Admiral had sent for her before she could demand to see him. Interesting. Also interesting that he hadn't come down to the brig to see her. Tigh led her inside the study, where the Admiral stood up from his desk to greet her.

"You can wait outside the door," the Admiral told the Marines who'd escorted her. He also nodded to Tigh, who slipped out as well. Carole turned and faced the Admiral.

Up close, he looked even more intimidating than he did on television. His eyes were a bright, piercing blue, and there wasn't the slightest trace of a smile on his face.

"Hudson," he said, finally. "I've heard the name before."

"It's a common name," Carole said evenly, determined not to give him anything. Adama's stare didn't waver, and she capitulated. "My son Finn is a Raptor pilot."

He grunted. "Thought so. Have a seat." He gestured to the chair before his desk and sat back down at his own chair. Carole sat slowly.

"We talked to Robert about Quinn Fabray," he said finally, reaching out to pour two drinks. "I'd like to hear your opinion of her."

"My opinion. And considering I got myself arrested protesting _her_ arrest, what good would that do you?"

Adama raised his eyebrows. "I'd still like your opinion, please."

You couldn't argue with Adama. "Fine. Quinn is intelligent, manipulative, sometimes very selfish, and has a history of doing some crazy things. I was never very fond of her. But I'm quite positive that she would never kill anyone." Carole thought about that last point and frowned. "Well, at least not anyone who didn't deserve it. I could certainly see her killing someone in self-defense. But I think even that would bother her."

"Because of the baby?"

A jolt passed through her and she sat up straight. "You know about Beth?"

"I didn't know her name was Beth, but I know about the baby. Dr. Robert told me. He said that Quinn had confided in him that she had a baby at age sixteen and given her up for adoption rather than terminating the pregnancy, and that she did it for religious reasons."

"Yes." Carole felt a flash of hope. "That's all true. I'm surprised he told you that."

Adama snorted. "Let's just say he was rather dismissive of the idea." He picked up one of the tumblers and took a sip. "He told me that after finding that out, he knew she didn't have the guts to make the hard decisions."

"The hard decisions?"

"About who gets the medicine when the medicine runs out. That was his logic- that the stores would run short and the medicine should be saved for those who served the Fleet, not Sagittarons. And a girl who couldn't even see the wisdom in terminating a pregnancy that she was in no way ready for would not be have the steel to make life and death decisions in a case like this."

"Amazing how he can make the simple morals of not killing people sound like a flaw," Carole said sourly.

Adama cracked a smile. "That's what I thought. But despite his disdain- or perhaps because of it- he convinced me. He never told Quinn what he was doing."

Carole let out her breath. "Good."

Adama raised an eyebrow again. "You look like you could use a drink." He pushed the second tumbler over to her.

Carole took it, but didn't drink. "So if you're so convinced of Quinn's innocence, why am I here?"

There was a folder on Adama's desk. He tapped his fingers on it, but didn't push it over. "When you were arrested, Saul told me who you were. He had a lot to say, especially about your Resistance involvement. He also mentioned that you were associated with that singing group."

"New Directions. Yes. But they don't have anything to do with this. Quinn was the only one with contact with Dr. Robert." Carole realized she'd spoken more sharply than she'd intended. "I'm sorry. It's just that they're kids- well, not kids anymore- but they've been in my care. I'm protective."

"They're your kids," Adama said. "I understand that." He sighed and tapped the folder. "And you were wrong before. That's what I want to talk to you about."

Carole's brow furrowed. "What was I wrong about?"

"That Quinn Fabray was your only kid with contact with Dr. Robert." Adama slid the folder across the desk to her. Carole took it, puzzled. It was a thin manila folder that looked like a doctor's records. In fact, that was exactly what it was. When she opened it, the name hit her like a slap across the face.

_Anderson, Blaine._

"Did he… oh my gods." Carole scanned the pages frantically. Most of it was gibberish to her, but one section stood out. _Colony of Birth- Sagittaron._ "Oh my gods. He didn't-"

"We don't know for sure," Adama interrupted her. "We couldn't get Robert to confess to anything."

"Quinn was so convinced he'd recover." Carole stared at the file. "If he was…."

"Doc Cottle remembered the case," Adama said. "If it's any comfort, he says there really wasn't much of a chance, and that it very well could have been the radiation poisoning that killed him anyway. We don't know for sure. But we certainly suspect."

Carole kept flipping the pages of the charts back and forth. "I don't know what I'm going to do with this," she said. "I don't know what to tell Kurt…."

"Well, given that Zarek already knows about this entire mess, I'm sure that your son does, as well. That's why I told you."

So she could be prepared. So she could deal with Kurt. Because he understood this desire to protect her kids, even if they weren't her biological children, although Kurt was close enough. Carole nodded blindly. "Thank you, Admiral."

"You're welcome." He stood. "Saul went down to get Dr. Fabray out of the brig. I'll walk you to the landing bay."

***

Carole didn't go straight to the _Daru Mozu_, even though she knew she should. She went back to the _Cybele_, and although it was the early hours of the morning, she made her way to the common area. She hadn't eaten anything since their interrupted meal almost twelve hours ago. When she got there, she was glad she hadn't gone straight to bed, because Kurt and Burt were sitting together at a table, and one look at their faces told her that Kurt knew, and they'd obviously been talking about it for a while.

"It's just how much more can I take?" Kurt asked plaintively. "I thought I was over Blaine's death, but to know that he could have survived if some racist cretin hadn't decided he needed to die because of what planet he was from. Like it mattered!" Carole sat down with them and Burt shot her a look of pure panic.

Carole was usually a very honest person. But there was something to be said for lying, especially when it protected a child. What good would it do Kurt to dwell on if Dr. Robert had killed Blaine, or if had been radiation poisoning? Kurt had already had the wound of Blaine's death reopened once, and it had not gone well with him. This time, with New Caprica lurking in the near past and the therapist taking him off his drugs, Carole thought it would go even worse. She made a quick, firm decision.

"Honey, I talked to Dr. Cottle myself. He remembered Blaine and he read over the file. He told me that Blaine wasn't going to make it."

"But Quinn said-"

"Quinn's young, and she learned everything on the job. She's never worked with radiation poisoning. She thought Blaine would live because she _wanted_ Blaine to live. More than one doctor looked at Blaine when he came on board the _Galactica_, and they were pretty sure that Blaine was too sick. They tried." Carole laid her hand over Kurt's. His eyes were desperate, hopeful. He _wanted_ to believe her.

"But Dr. Robert still-"

"No. They got a confession out of him, Kurt, and he didn't start doing this until New Caprica." Carole was making it up as she went along, and she desperately hoped that none of this would be contradicted in the trial. "Blaine died from radiation poisoning. Okay?" She gripped his hand tightly, willing him to believe. Kurt nodded tentatively, and Carole smiled. "I know what Dr. Robert did was horrible, but it didn't happen right away. Blaine wasn't murdered, sweetie, and it's going to be okay."

Kurt took a deep breath, then another, and then gave Carole a watery smile. "Thanks, Carole."

"You're welcome." He'd believed her. Carole sat back with an internal sigh of relief. Another hurdle overcome, another crisis averted. But she knew she'd better remember to call Finn and make sure he told Dr. Cottle exactly what she'd told Kurt, in case Kurt ever came asking the source. That was if it all didn't come out at the trial.

***

Carole went back over to the _Daru Mozu_, late and desperately needing to get caught back up. "Where the hell were you?" Grayson asked as soon as she walked into the management office.

"Jail," Carole said succinctly. "Take it up with the Admiral."

"What the hell does Adama have to do with anything? Perkins had to cover your shifts, and Xeno Fenner's been over here riding my ass about something with the _Hitei Khan._"

Carole sighed. "What's he want now?"

"He wants us to support him in his request for more workers."

"So? Why didn't he talk to you about it?"

"He did. But with your son working for Zarek, he thought your name might have a little more clout."

"Like that's done us so much good so far," Carole said dryly. She sighed and picked up the stack of papers that had been left on her desk, sifting through them. "It's the same old song, everywhere in the Fleet. Not enough workers and too much…." She trailed off, her brow furrowing as she looked at something.

"What?"

Carole held up the sheaf of pages that was in her pile. "Did you see this?" The top page said _My Triumphs, My Mistakes_. The words were typewritten, but on the first page there was a hand-written note in vaguely familiar handwriting. _I thought you would like this._

"Oh. That." Grayson ran his hand over his close-cropped hair. "Actually, I did."

"What is it?"

"It's the first pages of Gaius Baltar's book."

Carole snorted and pushed it away. "Right. What a waste of paper."

"Surprisingly enough, not really."

Carole looked at him skeptically. "You're joking."

"I know. I would have said the same thing." Grayson shrugged.

Carole sat down and scanned the pages. _Although we are purported to be a democracy, we are for all intents and purposes an aristocracy, one that is ruled by those that we once revered. Consider, for example, that the last formal election was Roslin v Baltar. Although the results of that election might not be the ones you choose to remember, there has been no election since. The voice of the people has once again been silenced in the name of "what's best for the people." And the people stay silent, because this authoritarian dictatorship has taken the form of a benevolent tyranny in Roslin and Adama._

"It's _Baltar_," she said, tossing the pages away. "Do you expect he'd ever have anything good to say about President Roslin?"

Grayson shrugged. "Read the whole thing," he insisted. "It's worth it. You know as well as I do that there's some very real problems in this Fleet."

"There are," Carole agreed. "But it's not exactly an easy situation. President Roslin's doing what she can."

Grayson eyed her shrewdly. "You're a lot more tolerant of Roslin than you were of Baltar on New Caprica."

"Of course I am. Roslin is actually _trying._ She's not wallowing in booze and floozy interns. I'm betting that Baltar wrote this with his dick."

Grayson cracked a smile. "If he did, it's one hell of a smart dick. Seriously, Carole, read it. There are a lot of good points in there."

"Right." Carole barely refrained from rolling her eyes. He _was_ her boss, after all. "So when's Xeno coming over next?"

"This afternoon. This one's going to be tough- we've got a lot to go over."

"Don't we always?" Carole said with a sigh. She tossed _My Ego, My Dick_ or whatever it was called aside and turned her full attention to Grayson. "Let's get planning, then." There were a lot more immediate problems than Baltar.

***

"Look," Grayson said two hours later, frustration coloring his voice. "We've got to stop pitting ourselves against each other. I know we're in competition for a lot of the same resources, but the problem isn't here." He gestured to indicate the three of them and Marshall Cabot, who'd come over with Xeno. "The problem is out there."

"What, the Cylons?" Cabot didn't look impressed with that concept. "We aren't going to be able to make the frakking toasters go away just because we've got too few people working shit jobs on the lines."

"No. Not the toasters. The Fleet." Grayson leaned forward. "Look, we've got to accept that the Cylons aren't going away, right? That this Fleet, this here-" he gestured again- "is how it's all going to be until we find Earth. And at the rate we're going, that could be years."

"We can't last years," Xeno said. "Not like this. Our _people_ can't last."

"That's my point."

Cabot's brows furrowed. "What are you getting at?"

"Government derives from the mandate of the masses. Those in power are and should be held accountable for their actions."

"You sound like a high school textbook," Cabot scoffed.

"Maybe," Grayson said. He fished a pamphlet out of his vest. "I'm quoting." He handed it to Xeno, who looked at the pages with interest.

"This isn't Baltar's ode to himself again, is it?" Carole asked with deep suspicion.

"He's written more," Grayson continued, ignoring Carole. "And I've got to say, he hit the nail on the head. I can't stand Baltar, but if anyone understands exactly how the Fleet is screwed up, it's the guy who made a lot of the mess."

Xeno took the papers. "Someone gave me a copy of this. It's really worth reading?" Grayson nodded. "Huh. Maybe I'll have to give it a go."

"There aren't going to be solutions in there," Carole pointed out, unable to believe anyone was taking this claptrap seriously. "If Baltar had solutions, he wouldn't have made such a mess out of New Caprica."

"Carole, right now if a toaster told me how to fix the problems we've got, I'd kiss them." Xeno reached for his hat. "I don't care who's talking sense, as long as it can get some results."

"It's not going to! A treatise on why Roslin is wrong doesn't change anything!"

"Maybe not, but right now even a jumping off point is something. Come on, Cabot. We've still got to see Azu over on the _Demetrius_ about our recycling schedule before the day's done. Grayson, Hudson." He tipped his hat to them, and the two men from the _Hitei Kan_ headed off.

Carole waited until they were gone before she turned on Grayson. "Really? You're getting other people to read Baltar now?"

"Nothing wrong with reading, Hudson. You ought to try it sometime." He sighed. "Come on. We've got a lot to do on the floor as well. We'd better get to it."

Carole glanced at her watch as she followed him. There were still almost twelve hours before she was off shift. It was going to be an extremely long day.

"Mrs. Hudson?"

Carole looked up- the numbers in front of her were beginning to blur anyway. Jayla Henson was standing in the doorway. Her gut told her this couldn't be good. She put her pen down and beckoned to the girl. "Come on in. What's going on?"

"I got some news," Jayla said, and the way she smiled told Carole the news before she said it. "I'm pregnant."

It should have been good news. Jayla was in her twenties. She was healthy, she was at a good age, and Carole seemed to remember that a boyfriend was in the picture. Babies were good, but beyond that, they were _necessary._ But the words "I'm pregnant" settled around Carole like a heavy weight, and before she could stop herself, she heard her own voice saying, "Oh, frak."

Jayla's eyes narrowed as she glared at Carole. "Excuse me?"

_Oh frak_ was right. Carole pulled herself together. "I'm sorry. Congratulations."

"Thank you." Jayla's voice was much colder than it had been, and she stood straighter. She wasn't apologizing anymore. "As I'm sure you realize, I am going to have to request a transfer to a different ship."

"Of course." Carole restrained a sigh. "Of course you do." She dug through her papers and found the necessary forms. "Fill these out and get your doctor's signature, and I'll put them through for you."

"Thank you." Jayla defrosted slightly as she took the forms. "I appreciate it."

"You're welcome. And congratulations." Carole watched Jayla leave. There was no question that her step was lighter, like she was escaping.

The _Daru Mozu_ wasn't a fun ship to be on. But everything was worn and beaten down- nothing was the same anymore. Everyplace sucked. Carole tried to tell herself that over and over. But she kept seeing the lightness in Jayla's step, and she couldn't shake the idea that there was someplace to escape _to_. It was a very troubling thought.

Carole shook her head and turned back to her work.

***

The dining hall was crowded. Carole nudged her way through workers, deflecting questions here and ignoring mutterings there. She spotted an empty seat beside Sam and headed over, plunking her bowl of algae mash onto the table. "Mind if I sit here?"

Sam looked up, startled. "No. That's fine."

Carole sat down, took a deep breath, and began to eat her food. It still wasn't great, but she'd found it was better if you ate quickly when you were hungry. Sam didn't seem to share her views- he was stirring his, clearly loathe to eat the stuff. Carole couldn't blame him. "How are you doing?" she asked, because she needed distraction.

Sam shrugged. "All right, I guess."

"Are you coming back to the _Cybele_ this time?" Carole asked.

Sam shook his head. "Nah."

"Sam, you need a rest."

"So do a lot of other people. I'm not going to die if I don't get one, Carole. There's people on this ship that haven't gotten off half as much as I have."

"Yeah, but they weren't in a Cylon detention center for a month, either."

Sam made a face. "Whatever. I'm fine."

Carole decided to change the subject. "Did you hear about Jayla?"

As soon as she spoke, she kicked herself. Sam's face didn't really change, but she could see the defensiveness in his posture. Sam and Rya had been married long enough and been such a good couple that Carole often forgot how that marriage had begun. Not for the first time, she wondered exactly how Sam felt about that abortion. But she knew better than to ask.

"I heard," Sam said before Carole could retract her question. "Good for her." He stirred his algae. "Hey. Have you heard of this book?"

"What book?"

"This _My Triumphs, My Mistakes_ thing."

"Oh. _That_. Are you really reading Baltar's book?"

"I tried. It wasn't my sort of thing." Sam shrugged again. "But people are talking about it a lot on the line. A lot of people."

"Oh."

"Just thought you should know." He scooped up his mostly-full bowl. "I've got to get moving. Whistle's gonna blow in about five minutes, and I need to hit the john."

"Okay." Carole watched him go, and then turned back to her own food. It wasn't good that more people were reading this claptrap that Baltar was writing. Maybe she should read it, just so she knew what they were talking about.

As if this day wasn't bad enough.

***

Carole could see why Sam couldn't get through _My Ego, My Dick._ The language was flowery and elaborate, and several times she had to stop and reread sentences just to get their meaning. Baltar clearly was not used to talking to normal people.

She hated the tone of the book. It was humble, self-effacing. Baltar talked openly about what he'd done wrong on New Caprica, and Carole had to admit that he was right on the nose about a lot of things. But the humility struck her as fake, and that grated on her nerves. There was a good dose of humor, too, all at his own expense, but that just made her think he was trying too hard to ingratiate himself with the Fleet. Nevertheless, every now and then she found herself smiling against her will.

Baltar always had been charming.

And all right, Baltar had points here and there. The Fleet probably never would be led by anyone other than an Adama. But it wasn't like there was a school of Colonial officers, schooled in battle and ready for command. And yes, Laura Roslin hadn't been _officially_ elected to the Presidency again. But who was Baltar kidding? If an election had been held (with the minimal resources available in the Fleet), who else did he think people would vote for right after New Caprica? Tom Zarek? He was the only person who could possibly challenge Laura Roslin, and there was no way he would win. Even Kurt would admit that.

Carole finished reading with a sigh of relief. She didn't put any stock in anything that Baltar had written, but she was glad she'd read it. At least now she knew that there was no threat, thank the gods.

She put the papers aside.

***

_Denied._

Carole stared at Jayla's transfer form, her brow furrowed as she waited on hold on the phone. How the world could end and there could still be hold music was a mystery to her, but somehow, it had happened. Finally, the music cut off and there was a voice on the end of the line. "Hello?"

"This is Carole Hudson, over on the _Daru Mozu_," Carole said, her voice snappish with impatience. "I'm holding a denied transfer form for Jayla Merkins."

"Well, I'm sure the office reviewed her case and made the best decision."

"They didn't," Carole said. "She's pregnant. There's no way she should be working on the lines."

"And I'm sure she's not expected to," the voice said. "A denial of transfer does not require that she remain in a dangerous job."

"Well, what's she supposed to do on this ship?"

"I'm sure you've had this problem before."

"Yes, and I've always been able to transfer the woman to a different ship. Why is it any different now?"

"In order for a ship transfer to be approved, there has to be someone willing to transfer to the ship the applicant wants to leave. I can only assume that there is no one willing to transfer to the _Daru Mozu_ at this time."

"In almost forty thousand people?" Carole asked incredulously. "You've got to be kidding. You can find someone!"

"No applications list _Daru Mozu_ as a transfer option at this time," the woman said firmly. "I'm sorry, but it can't be helped. The best I can suggest is that you find someone in the Fleet willing to change places with the applicant."

"Why do I have a feeling that's going to be harder than you make it sound?" Carole grumbled. She sighed. "Thank you very much." She hung up the phone, resisting the urge to slam it into the cradle. Now all she had to do was get someone to transfer to the _Daru Mozu_. Great. That wouldn't be hard at all.

Right.

***

"The _Daru Mozu_? I'm sorry, but I've already got a good job here over in the engine room on the _Zephyr._"

"I have children. The _Daru Mozu_ is no place for a three-year-old. Their father? He died on New Caprica. I'm on my own."

"Refinery work? I don't know the first thing about it. I'd be useless."

"The _Daru Mozu_? Lady, not if you paid me."

"Well, maybe I could transfer, but… why? I mean, it's a dangerous job and a hard one. I'd get more rations or something, right? No? I'm sorry. I don't think I can help you. I'm sorry, but I've got people to think about."

"No."

"No."

"No."

"I'm sorry, but the answer is no."

Sometimes, Carole really hated being right.

***

"How's the search for a replacement for Jayla coming?" Grayson asked her toward the end of her shift as they walked along the line together. There wasn't much space for them to walk side by side, and Grayson had to shout for Carole to hear him from three feet away.

"Not so good. I haven't come up with anyone."

"What about your husband?"

"Burt?" Carole hadn't even considered that.

Grayson shrugged. "Why not? He's a mechanic, right? He'd figure out the work quick enough. And then you two could be on the same ship and you wouldn't have to keep disappearing over to the _Cybele_."

"We have kids on the other ship."

"Who are all twenty. Besides, isn't one of your kids here? Sam? Hell, what about one of them?"

"They all have jobs already." Which was true. The kids were all gainfully employed, and in ways that served the Fleet more than them just being line workers.

"Well then, more reason for your husband not to be over on the _Cybele_," Grayson said. "And what about those others? Aren't there three other adults in your group?"

"You do not want Sue Sylvester on the line," Carole said firmly. "Trust me on this."

"That still leaves you with two other people," Grayson said. "Come on, Hudson. This isn't rocket science. We've got to get Jayla out of here. Get on it."

***

Burt. Carole decided that Burt would be the first one she asked. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Grayson was right about Burt being the best choice in terms of abilities, and it _would_ be nice for them to be on the same ship all the time. And given that she was one of the line foremen, they'd have a small measure of privacy. The more she thought about it, the more she convinced herself it was the right thing to do. She just had to figure out how to do it.

Burt was waiting for her when she got off the shuttle, and right away she knew this wasn't a conversation that she wanted to have. He looked extremely agitated.

"What's wrong?" Carole asked as soon as they'd greeted each other. "No one's dead, are they?"

Burt cracked a smile at that. "No. Nothing that serious. I got this." He dug a letter out of his pocket and handed it to her.

Carole spread out the folds and read it, her brow furrowed as she deciphered the official-sounding language. "I don't understand," she said. "This sounds like a draft notice."

"It's not." Burt grimaced as he took the paper back from her. "I mean, not really. They need me to come and help out until this guy who hurt his back can come back. I don't really have an option, but it's not a draft notice. It makes it sound like I can come back to the _Cybele_ in a few months' time if I want."

"Will you be on the _Galactica_ full-time?"

"Guess so." Burt smoothed the letter again. "Don't really like not being able to keep an eye on Kurt, though."

"He's doing better."

Burt's glance was direct. "You know as well as I do they're taking him off his meds before he really should be. It's not gonna be pretty, Carole. And I'm leaving him here with Schuester and Sue."

"And Shannon." Carole clung to that. "She'll keep an eye on him. And he's hardly ever here anyway- he spends so much time on the _Astral Queen_ and _Colonial One_."

"Yeah." Burt shoved his hands in his pockets. "Don't know what I'm getting so worked up about, really. With everything that's happened, this is no big deal. I've gotta do what I can, and working with Galen on engines is far from the worst thing that can happen. I've just been knocking around here a bit anyway. It'll probably be good for me, to be over there and working." He was trying to convince himself it didn't matter, but Carole knew better. This was the man who had clung to his own business on New Caprica, even after the Cylons invaded. Burt's business was a part of himself, and handing that autonomy over to someone else was going to be hard. Carole was suddenly very, very glad that she wasn't having to ask him to come over to the _Daru Mozu_.

"Come on," she said, slipping her arm around her husband's waist. "We don't have that long before we head back off- let's go make the most of it."

***

"Come on, Will. I know you've been teaching, but-"

"But Tauron language education just isn't that important anymore, right?" Will's smile was sad.

"I didn't say that." Carole was trying to maintain her tact. "But we need another worker."

"One worker isn't going to do much, Carole."

"Especially if it's you," Sue said, wandering in to the New Directions room and munching on an algae bar. "You're not exactly the most effective work force there, Rosie."

Will rolled his eyes. "Wasn't asking you, Sue."

"I'm not expecting you to…" Carole fumbled for the words. _Change things. Make things better. Save the world._ "We just need someone to take Jayla's place so she can get off the ship. Come on, Will. We're desperate. And you'd get away from Sue."

Sue snorted.

Will slumped in his seat. "All right. Fine." He lifted one hand helplessly into the air and then let it drop. "I'll do it."

"Thank you."

Will grimaced and stood up. "I'd better go make some arrangements. I'm guessing you want me over there in a few days?"

"More like a few hours, if it's possible. The shuttle comes soon."

He pressed his lips together and headed out of the room. Carole watched him go. His shoulders were slumped, his once-crisp button-down shirt was worn and limp, and there were badly mended runs in his vest. His hair had gotten longer, and he wasn't as fastidious about shaving as he used to be.

"He looks like shit," Sue said, voicing Carole's thoughts.

"I suppose we all do," Carole said, pushing self-consciously at her hair, which was now a ragged mop again instead of the gleaming coifed style that Kurt had helped her obtain.

"Eh, I'm not talking about that." Sue waved her hand dismissively in Carole's general direction. "He's useless."

"No he's not."

"Sure he is. People like Will don't know how to function in this world. They think that everything's still operating under the same rules as it was on the Colonies. They can't cope with the fact everything's gone."

"He's still going," Carole said crossly.

"Only because people like you and me are pulling him along." For once, Sue wasn't smirking. "You're going to have your hands full with him over there on the _Daru Mozu_."

Carole suddenly felt exhausted, both with the conversation and her lot in general. "No, I won't. I just need a warm body to get a pregnant woman off that ship. He'll learn the work fast enough."

"It'll break him. You think someone like Will Schuester can keep going in a job like that? Where no one's depending on him and he's just another piece of the machinery?"

_Just another piece of the machinery._ Carole turned away, annoyed for a reason she couldn't fully articulate. "It's just until we find Earth." Sue snorted, and Carole steadfastly ignored her. "He'll be fine. I'll make sure of it."

"You can't drag every single one of them across the finish line here, Algaebreath. You've got your hands full enough."

"Algaebreath?" Carole regarded her dubiously. "Really, Sue? That's the best you've got?"

"I'm running out," Sue admitted. "It's been a long few years."

"Hasn't it, though." Carole pushed herself back to standing and sighed. "I'd better get ready to go back to the _Daru Mozu_ myself. Good luck with the kids."

"Good luck with Schuester. Believe me, you're going to need it more."

***

The shuttle docked on the _Daru Mozu_, and Will tightened his grip on his bag. Carole glanced over at him. "Relax. It's not that bad."

"I know. This is just… new to me."

"Yeah, well, you'll get used to it. Everyone's new to it at some point. Come on." The shuttle was opening, and Carole hopped out.

It was strange to see the deck of the _Daru Mozu_ with Will beside her- sort of like seeing it again for the first time. "It's a lot bigger than the _Cybele_," Will said.

"Wait until you see the rest of the ship. Come on." Carole led him onwards.

As they made their way through the crowded halls, she could see reality sinking in on Will's face. The _Cybele_ was hardly the height of luxury, and their own room had been set up originally for sixteen people to sleep in. But the _Daru Mozu_, with its narrow halls and cramped quarters, was even more crowded. Chemical smells hung in the air, even away from the production floor, as well as the smell of, well, _people._ Will looked a little overwhelmed, and for a moment, Carole felt sympathy for him. But then, this was how people lived now. She found the dorm she was looking for and pushed the door open, and then led Will back to a corner.

"Sam!" Sam looked up from a mending job he was doing, and Carole pulled Will forward. "Look what I found. Think you can help him settle in?"

Sam smiled, a quick, tight smile. "Mr. Schue! Sure. I can help him." He put his mending aside and stood up. "Come on. We'll get you set up with a hammock and a crate and then I can show you around."

"Uh, great. Thanks, Sam."

"Well, that's settled. If you have any questions, you know where to find me, but Sam can get you started. Your first shift starts tomorrow morning. See you then." Carole smiled and patted Will on the shoulder, then left the dormitory.

Everybody had to do their part if they were going to get to Earth and if they were going to survive the Cylons.

***

There was a message for her, in a sealed envelope, clearly marked from _Colonial One_. Carole was certain that it must be about testifying against Dr. Robert. She tore it open with a mix of reluctance and eagerness, and then stopped. The message had nothing to do with Dr. Robert. It was something even better. Workers would be conscripted from those with relevant backgrounds on other ships to work on the _Hitei Khan_, the _Daru Mozu_, the _Demetrius_, and several other ships. The factory ships.

She should have known that Roslin would come through for them. Carole folded the message with a definite sense of relief.

***

Grayson didn't see it that way. "It's not enough, Hudson! It's too little, too late, and at best it's a stop-gap to fix a deeper problem!"

"It's a step," Carole told Grayson firmly. "These things can't be fixed all at once. President Roslin is making a step to meet us, and a strike will risk everything that we stand to gain! And since when are we talking strike, anyway?"

"Why shouldn't we? It's not like they can fire us!" Grayson shot back, pacing his small cluttered office in agitation. "They can't even get people over here without a direct order and threat of jail time! How else are we going to make our voices heard?"

Carole glared at him, frustrated. "Our voices _are_ being heard. They're getting us workers!"

"Did you hear what happened to Fenner?"

"No."

"Tossed in jail. For quoting _My Triumphs, My Mistakes_ at Roslin."

Carole's first thought was that Xeno must have been incredibly stupid to quote Gaius Baltar at Laura Roslin. Her second thought was that there was no way that could be true. "No," she said, shaking her head. "She wouldn't jail him just for reading a book."

"Wouldn't she?"

"No. No! She wouldn't!"

"She banned abortion."

"That's entirely different! You don't see the difference there?"

"There were rumors she tried to steal the election."

"From Gaius Baltar. And you lived on New Caprica! Was she wrong? If she'd stolen the election, we would have never been there!"

"Where would we be now? Earth, Carole? Where _is_ Earth?"

Carole stepped back. "What the frak does Earth have to do with any of this? What does it have to do with a strike?"

Grayson took a step back as well, and the lines of his face softened a little. "Because everyone keeps believing that this is temporary, that we could find Earth tomorrow. And as long as people keep thinking that, there's no need to make changes. And we keep going on like this, thinking that salvation will come tomorrow, and the people on this ship and the _Hitei Khan_ and the _Demetrius_ and the others keep doing all the shit work, without a break. Earth's got a lot to do with this, because things won't change unless we admit that this Earth thing might not be real. And Carole, things have got to change. We can't go on like this much longer. You know I'm right. That's why you count the hours until you can go back to the _Cybele_, where things are better."

Carole tried not to wince. "I have family there."

"That you've never moved over to the _Daru Mozu_, even though we could use them. _Why_ have you never moved your mechanic husband over here, Carole? Why haven't you ever tapped that group of kids for workers, until you were forced to? It's not the work over here- you were a factory worker on Gemenon. It's because it frakking _sucks_."

There was no answer to that. Carole knew it- it was all laid out for her. She sighed heavily, running her hands through her hair. "A strike still isn't the answer."

"Yeah, well, a strike is what they're going to get. The _Hitei Khan_ went on strike a half hour ago, and we're joining them." Grayson's face was set. "They'd better be ready, because they have no idea what they're dealing with."

***

_Strike_. Carole remembered a cold day standing in a tent, chanting the word. _Strike._

On New Caprica, it had been a good idea. Here in the Fleet….

There was no denying that things needed changing. Carole _knew_ that. She'd seen the cramped quarters, the bad rations, the lack of time off the workers on her ship had. She knew it. The problem was, how were things supposed to change without resources? This wasn't Gemenon or even New Caprica, where there were ways to make things better. Machinery was breaking, people were wearing out, and there just wasn't much that could be done to change things. President Roslin was stuck.

Of course, she could have conscripted workers a long time before this. That one wasn't rocket science.

But conscription took away freedom. Kurt had always been against the idea for that very reason, and in principle, Carole agreed with him. But when people were free to choose what they did and didn't choose to do what needed to be done, what then?

Her head began to hurt, despite the silence of the machinery.

The quiet in the _Daru Mozu_ made it seem like a foreign place. She was so used to the sounds of the machinery, the clanks and the gears and the squeals and shouting, that without it, she couldn't concentrate. The ship wasn't silent- she could hear voices and laughter and people. So many people on this ship. She could hear children playing and babies crying. She closed her eyes. Children and babies, on a factory ship. And yet, what was the option? To separate families?

She made her way to her own office and sat down heavily. As if her desk knew her mind, a copy of _My Triumphs, My Mistakes_ mocked her from the top of a pile of papers. How had it gotten to the top, anyway? Carole shook her head and picked it up, flipping through the pages. It was trash, written solely by Gaius Baltar to make trouble in the Fleet. And yet….

_I wash my hands of the phony democratic system; I will never let myself be distracted by the placatory crumbs that the Caprican elite led by the Roslin administration toss into the barnyard every now and again. Many of the oppressed have realized the truth and are ready to take action, even ready to take arms…._

She didn't think it had anything to do with Caprica, but the fact that it was so difficult to get Jayla off this ship, when it should be so easy….

She shook her head angrily and shoved the papers away. Gaius Baltar was the last person she needed to think about right now, and the last person who could help them. This strike would force Roslin to make some changes- not as many as they needed, but that was life- and the Fleet would go on. Carole rubbed her temples and looked back down at her paperwork. Once this strike was over, she was going to have to get back into action fast- she'd be smart to be ready.

She stared at the paperwork without seeing it at all.

***

The strike ended almost as quickly as it began. Of course the administration couldn't give the workers everything they wanted- that was impossible. They couldn't give them back the life and society they'd had before the attacks. But the union was reformed, Galen Tyrol was reinstated as union president, and changes were going to be made. Carole felt vindicated- she _knew_ President Roslin would come through for them. It just took time, that was all.

Everything was going to be okay.

***

The alarm went off. Carole was on a catwalk, and she could see where the line stopped immediately. She thundered down the thin metal stairs, hoping it wasn't who she thought it was.

Frak. It _was_ Sam.

"What happened?" Carole demanded before she even got there. Sam was huddled in on himself, holes in his clothing. There was a puddle nearby, and the wall looked wet.

"I'm not sure," Will stammered. "The pressure just started skyrocketing and then-"

Carole grabbed Sam by the shoulder and yanked him to his feet. "Clear a hole!" she shouted, and pushed him towards the emergency shower. She shoved him in and pulled the lever, and water gushed down.

The water dripped to a stop and Sam emerged, soaked and sputtering. "Thanks," he gasped, wiping the water away from his face. He winced as he moved, and Carole could see where the chemicals had splattered on his arm.

"We'd better get you over to the _Rising Star_ right away," she said.

Sam tried to wave it off. "I'll be fine."

"Nice try. Come on." Carole knew she was right when Sam cradled his arm, and there may have been other damage done as well. She led him out through the production floor, Will trailing after them. "Will, go get some cold, wet cloths," Carole ordered. Obviously eager to be of use, Will hurried off.

"We really don't need to go," Sam insisted. "There's first aid supplies here and I'm not burned _that_ bad. We can take care of it." The pain in his voice spoke otherwise.

"The one good thing to come out of this whole damn apocalypse is that medical care is free to anyone in the Fleet," Carole said. "You're going. No more arguments." Sam's shoulders slumped in defeat.

The regular shuttle wouldn't come for another three hours, so Carole called Finn. Within an hour they were in the _Galactica_'s infirmary, and a nurse was checking Sam in. She looked tired, and it occurred to Carole that she probably hadn't had a day off herself in a long time. There were young people like Quinn who had been training as doctors or nurses, but that took a long time, and in the meantime, there were no new doctors. She remembered her words about free health care and bit her lip, vaguely ashamed.

But there was no time for that. The nurse was asking questions, and Sam needed medical care. No matter what he said, the chemical burns looked nasty, and Carole knew enough to know they could continue to get worse. Finally, the nurse led them to the back of the infirmary and pointed out a bed. Sam was just taking off his shirt when the doctor approached.

Carole froze. It was Dr. Robert.

Her immobility only lasted a split second, until she realized that Dr. Robert was headed for Sam, chart in hand. With two swift steps she was between them, arms crossed and glaring.

"Carole?" Will grabbed her arm. "What are you doing?"

Carole shook him off easily. "What the frak are you doing here?" she demanded of Dr. Robert.

Dr. Robert looked surprised at the moment, but she could see the moment when the pieces fell into place and he knew she _knew_. But he blustered forward anyway. "This man needs a doctor," he said, trying to step around her to get to Sam. "That's what I'm here for."

"You think I'm going to let _you_ touch one of my kids? Get the frak away!"

"Um, Carole?" Will asked hesitantly. "What's going on? Sam needs medical treatment- that's why we're here."

"Not from him." Carole shook her head fiercely. "He's a murderer."

"Carole, that's ridiculous," Will snapped, with a lot more force than Carole would have expected. "He's a doctor. I know that you were in the Resistance on New Caprica and that you people tend to think of anyone who collaborated as a murderer-"

"Now hold up, I never collaborated with the Cylons!" Dr. Robert said. "I was in the Resistance as well."

"Oh, that's great. I'm real proud of you," Carole said sarcastically. "That makes such a difference."

"Listen, lady¸ I don't know what your problem is with me-"

"You were killing Sagittarons! That's my problem with you!"

"You're crazy!" Dr. Robert pulled away. "I don't have to listen to this. You want this kid treated? Find another doctor."

"You're not getting anywhere near him anyway!"

"What the hell is going on over here?" Dr. Cottle came over, pulling them apart. As soon as he saw Carole's face, he sighed. "Get the hell somewhere else, Robert," he ordered. "I'll take care of this one." Dr. Robert scurried off. "All right. What have we got?"

Carole was too angry to speak, so Will went through what he knew had happened. Cottle half-listened, but he was examining Sam's shoulder and arm and starting his work already. He looked worried, but Carole had the suspicion he had one of those faces that always looked worried. Besides, right now she was in no mood to be concerned. But reason was reasserting itself enough for her to realize one thing- she did not want to talk about Dr. Robert's crimes in front of Will or Sam. If either of them figured out that Blaine had been murdered, they might think honesty was the best policy or something and decide to tell Kurt, and _that_ was something that Carole didn't want.

Cottle finished with Sam, and before Carole could explode, he gestured for her to follow him. Will stayed with Sam, and Carole stalked angrily to his office.

"What the hell?" she demanded as soon as the door closed. "I know what he did. What the _frak_ is he doing here? That man should be dead- or at least in jail. He murdered people! By his own admission! What possible justification could you have for having him in here?"

"You done?" Cottle asked when Carole paused for breath. He didn't give her a chance to answer. "Good. He's here on Admiral's orders, and I don't like it any better than you do. But gods know we need the doctors, and Dr. Robert is damn good at internal medicine, which we need. So you and I have to shut up and deal."

Carole had no intention of doing that, but she recognized the point that Cottle wasn't responsible for this. She controlled her temper. "Fine," she bit out. "What do you need to see me for?"

"Says here on Sam's chart that you're both his supervisor and his legal guardian."

"Yes. Will he be okay?"

"The burns will heal. He needs some rest and some fluids and some time, but the worst of it's over."

"Then I take it that's not what you want to talk to me about."

"I'm concerned about his weight."

That took Carole by surprise. "His weight?"

"Yeah. His weight." Cottle put the chart down on his desk and lit a cigarette. "He's underweight for his height."

"Aren't most people anymore? Algae's not exactly the most fattening diet. And Sam does a lot of physical labor."

"You could be right. It could be nothing. It could also be a sign of something else going on."

"Like an illness?"

"Or a psychological issue." Cottle looked at the end of his cigarette. "I can give you some information as to what to look for, but it's a realistic concern."

Carole sighed heavily. "Do you think it is?"

"Hell if I know. I'll do a quick work-up just to rule out some medical possibilities, but if something else is going on, he should probably see a psychologist."

"Who in this Fleet shouldn't see a psychologist?" Carole asked.

"Tell me about it. Anyway, I'll be in touch."

"Thank you." Carole hesitated, then left. Cottle had a lot of information, but he wasn't the one she needed to see. Not by a longshot. She needed to see the Admiral, and she knew just who to enlist to get her there.

***

"You're not just going to barge in, are you?" Finn asked anxiously. Despite his long legs, he was having to scurry to keep up with Carole. "You just don't _do_ that, Mom."

"You don't do what he's done, either," Carole growled. Just the thought of the guy who'd _killed_ one of her kids still loose in the Fleet… she wasn't sure if she was going to be sick or punch something. She stopped at a door. "This it?"

"Yeah. This is it." Finn lurched around her. "Mom, listen. I know you're pissed, and I don't blame you, okay? But at least let me go through protocol, or they'll toss you in the brig before you can even say anything." Carole nodded tightly. Finn straightened up, straightened his uniform, and knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Carole shoved the door open. It was thick and heavy, but it still made a bang. The Admiral looked up.

He was sitting at his desk, and as luck would have it, he was talking to the President and Tigh. Tigh stood up, frowning. "What the hell is going on here?" His question was addressed to Finn.

"She wanted to see the Admiral, sir," Finn said nervously.

"So you just brought her up here?"

"Well, yeah. She's my mom, sir. You try saying no to her."

"Pretty sure I can manage it, Ensign." Tigh turned his attention to Carole. "What the frak are you doing here?"

"What the frak is Dr. Robert doing here?" Carole demanded. Tigh pulled back. She turned to Admiral Adama. "You showed me the records. You held one of my kids for almost twenty-four hours in case she was an accomplice. He told you she wasn't, not because he hadn't done it, but because _she didn't have the guts to kill people._ He killed one of my kids. What the hell are you doing?"

Adama looked angry, but Roslin laid a hand on his arm, and then stood to face her. "Carole Hudson, right? From the _Daru Mozu_?" Carole nodded tightly. "I am not often in the habit of explaining myself, but your outrage is entirely justified. And believe me, this is not a decision I am comfortable with. But it is necessary."

"How can it possibly be necessary?" Carole felt like her heart would rip out of her with the question. "He murdered one of my kids. Blaine survived that hellhole on Caprica, and when he got up here, where he should have been safe-"

"I told you that we don't know that Dr. Robert killed Anderson," Adama said. "That was never confirmed."

"Because there was never even a _trial_, was there?" Carole looked from Roslin to Adama. Neither of them looked away, but neither of them hastened to reassure her, either. "There never was a trial. You never made him answer for his crimes?"

"He's answering," Adama said.

"How? How the _frak_ is he answering for what he's done?" Carole's voice rose to a shout. "He's waltzing around in there as free as a bird-"

"And going back to the brig every night," Roslin cut in. "If he's not working, he's incarcerated."

"It doesn't matter. He should have had a trial. He should have been out there and condemned and… damn it, people should _know_!" Carole hadn't realized how close she was to tears.

"And if they knew, what would happen then?" Roslin took a few steps closer, her arms crossed, her face hardened into an expression of stern sympathy. "You're on one of the factory ships. You know how desperate some of our work situations are. Can you imagine how desperate we are for doctors? For people who have real medical training and experience? If we allow ourselves to lose that, we are shooting ourselves in the foot. Like it or not- and believe me, Carole, I don't like it- Dr. Robert has skills that this Fleet needs to survive. He's cost lives, but he's saved them, too."

Tears flooded Carole's eyes, and she blinked them back. "I have lost three of my kids," she said, stepping back so she could address both Admiral and President. "Three of them. One we lost in the service, which I understand. He died fighting the Cylons, and I can accept that. But one was killed by a suicide bomber on New Caprica, and one was murdered by a racist doctor with a grudge. They were both killed by _humans._ More of my kids have been killed by humans than Cylons. That's not right."

"No," Laura agreed. "It's not."

"Blaine deserves justice." Carole choked on the words. "All those people Robert killed, _they_ deserve justice."

"They do. But the people still living deserve survival even more."

On some level, Carole understood it. But she couldn't fully accept it- or even that this was happening. She stared at Adama and Roslin, tears caught in her eyes.

"Mom," Finn said quietly, putting a hand on her arm. "Let's go."

"You have kids like I do," Carole told Adama. "Would you be able to sleep, knowing someone who murdered one of them was walking around free?"

"You assume I don't have to do that already."

Carole closed her eyes. Finn took advantage of her silence and tugged more insistently. When she opened her eyes again, Laura Roslin was still watching her. There was pity on her face- pity and understanding- but it was clear that she was not backing down from this. Carole capitulated and let Finn pull her from the room.

"Don't think you aren't flying extra sweeps, Hudson," she heard Tigh tell Finn as they left.

"Yes, sir." Finn propelled Carole out of the Admiral's study and into the hall, shutting the door behind them. "Mom?"

"There should have been a trial, Finn. People should know what he did."

Finn glanced uncertainly back at the closed door. "Yeah, and we do. At least over here on _Galactica._ Word gets around. And that's mostly the people he's treating."

"But a _trial!_ A real, actual trial and some sort of justice and…" Carole broke off. "It was _Blaine_, Finn! He murdered Blaine, and he's just walking around and-"

"Mom, calm down." Finn caught her hand and glanced around. "Let's head down to the deck, okay? Burt's on shift. And you kind of stormed out of the infirmary- Sam and Mr. Schue are probably wondering what's going on."

"All right." Carole had the feeling that it wouldn't go well for her if she tried to burst back in there. She couldn't change this one, at least not right now. She followed Finn down the hall.

***

It was strange to see Burt in his orange coveralls and without his hat, but as soon as he smiled at her, waving across the deck, Carole felt a little more grounded. "Hey," he said, coming over. "What are you doing here? You aren't in the brig again, are you?"

"Very funny. Sam's in the infirmary," Carole said, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Burt? Have you been down to the infirmary at all?"

The expression on his face told her he knew, but he held his hands up defensively. "Before you get all angry at me, I only just found out about it the other day," he told her. "I was going to tell you, but it's not the kind of thing you talk about over the phone."

Carole deflated. He was right about that. And besides, it wasn't Burt she was angry with anyway. "Do you think they're doing the right thing?"

Burt rubbed his chin. "Right? I don't know about that. But what makes sense? Yeah, I guess. Although if it was up to me, I'd only bring him out for emergencies. And make him stay on the _Astral Queen_ instead of here. Ship full of Sagittarons would be the place to imprison him."

"He probably wouldn't be alive by the end of it," Finn pointed out.

"That's the point," Carole said sharply. Finn wisely shut up, and then disappeared when another pilot hailed him.

"Come on." Burt draped his arm around her shoulder. "There's nothing you can do about this one, Carole. You've got a half-hour until the shuttle leaves. Let me show you around."

Carole relaxed into Burt's embrace. "All right. Show me your kingdom."

There were a lot of familiar faces as they traveled around, a lot of people that Carole recognized from the union on New Caprica. A lot of faces she didn't recognize as well- people who had stayed on _Galactica_. But what was universal was the air of exhaustion. People did their tasks and filled their duties, but they just looked dirty and grimy and _tired_.

"It's not that different from the _Daru Mozu_," Carole remarked to Burt when they were waiting in the bay again. "I hope the union restarting helps things."

"Yeah, we can hope."

She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. "You don't sound too sure of that."

Burt shrugged. "It's kind of like New Caprica, in its way. What good is a union when there's nothing for us to fight for? What everyone needs is Earth, and we need it soon. It's the only thing that's keeping a lot of people going."

Fear choked her throat. "Is it the only thing keeping you going?"

"Nah, I've got you and Kurt and Finn. But you should hear…" he shook his head. "Hell, even just how Finn talks about it, how once we get there he can think about getting married and just be done with all this…."

"Yeah." Carole sighed. "Once we get there, all these hard decisions will be over." She closed her eyes and leaned against Burt. "I really hope it's soon."

***

There was wisdom in leaving Dr. Robert alive. President Roslin knew what she was doing. Carole repeated that over and over to herself as she rode back to the _Daru Mozu._

_She knows what she's doing._ She got off the shuttle and made her way through the crowded corridors, past dorm rooms that housed thirty workers each and people who worked every day without a day off. Through the haze of odors that never went away and the loud noise on a ship where no one came by choice.

She entered the office and shut the door, sat down at her desk and closed her eyes. _She knows what she's doing._ Carole understood that. You _had_ to make hard decisions, decisions people didn't like. Frak, that's what she did herself, every single day. Someone always felt like they were getting screwed, someone always got the short end of the stick. But you did your best to make up for it, make it worth their while. President Roslin had listened. She gave them a union again, recognized that things needed to change.

Of course, time would see how much _did_ change. A union was all well and good, but what was the lesson of New Caprica? A union couldn't change the world. Not when the world was so dismal to begin with. A union wasn't a solution- it was a way of making the people feel like they had power. But they were still as powerless as before, because they were still in these ships being chased by Cylons and surviving on algae. A union was a gesture, a feeble attempt to make things better. Dr. Robert not having a trial was the way things really were.

Carole sat down, looking at the work on her desk. A sheaf of paper caught her eye, and she pulled it out.

_My Triumphs, My Mistakes._

"_My Ego, My Dick_," Carole said softly. She flipped it open. Baltar was still a narcissistic ass and still utterly incompetent when it came to government, but….

But….

She flipped the pages. _I wash my hands of the phony democratic system; I will never let myself be distracted by the placatory crumbs that the Caprican elite led by the Roslin administration toss into the barnyard every now and again. Many of the oppressed have realized the truth and are ready to take action, even ready to take arms ..._

It was Baltar, but maybe… maybe he had a point buried somewhere in this steaming pile of crap.

Carole settled back in her chair and began to read.


End file.
